


Bésame Mucho (Fan Continuation)

by Kinuha



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fanfic Continuation, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, I just want them to finally be happy, M/M, Not Original Fanfic, WWII, veraverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinuha/pseuds/Kinuha
Summary: *This is a fan-written continuation of the unfinished Spamano fanfic "Bésame Mucho" by George deValier. Please read the foreword before proceeding.Original summary:WW2 AU. Lovino Vargas only ever wanted something exciting to happen in his boring, everyday Italian village existence. He never expected war, Resistance, love, passion, treason, or a cheerful, confusing, irritatingly attractive Spanish freedom fighter.Hetalia is the property of Himaruya Hidekaz, and the Veraverse is the creation of George deValier.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Austria/Prussia (Hetalia), Canada/France (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 74





	1. FOREWORD

**FOREWORD**  
PLEASE READ BEFORE PROCEEDING:

For those who do not know, the original **Bésame Mucho** and other Hetalia stories set in the same universe, collectively called the “Veraverse” (named after the singer Vera Lynn, from whose wartime songs the stories derive their titles from), were written by an author called George deValier. The Veraverse stories were the definitive human WWII AU fics in the fandom at the time, and continue to be considered one of the greatest Hetalia fanworks today. Unfortunately, for RL reasons unknown to us but which we can probably all imagine, George slowly stopped updating (I think the last update to his Veraverse fics happened in 2012, going by the timestamps on the notifications left in my email), and exactly one year ago on August 16, 2019, his account was deleted altogether. Bésame Mucho was one of his stories that ended up unfinished. The fandom experienced a slow heartbreak and an enduring grief that was all too familiar.

For the past five years since we last heard from him, the idea of continuing Bésame Mucho in his place occurred to me more than a few times, but I always dismissed it because a part of me always hoped that he would come back and finish it or one of his other works. However, there were two events that helped me decide to actually start my own version. One was this message from him in his Fanfiction.net profile (before it was deleted) that I found one day when I visited to just kind of gaze forlornly at the list of his stories.

_“To those still waiting,_

_I would still like to finish these stories one day. Unfortunately, if I am going to be completely honest with myself and with you, that day may never come. Life can change a lot in a year – let alone five – and we should never make promises we can’t be certain we’ll keep._

_I am sorry. And thank you, so much._

_George.”_

I remember closing my eyes and just rocking back in my chair when I read this. Some part of me knew that I had perhaps been hoping for the impossible; I myself had long abandoned my old fics with little to no intention of continuing them because school and work had sapped me of my time and energy to do so. Unlike me, George was an honourable author, and cared for his readers enough to let us know, as gently as he could, that he didn’t think he would be returning. I think this helped a lot of us to finally accept our loss and move on.

Still, as long as his works existed and he had the means to update them, I couldn’t let go of the distant dream that he might one day be able to find his way back to complete his masterpieces. Unfortunately the second event I had already mentioned – the disappearance of his Fanfiction account and subsequently the deletion of the original versions of his stories – laid this hope to rest as well. I found out about this just one day before I wrote this foreword, and in a brief moment of panic I thought the stories were lost forever. However, a quick Google search showed me that some kind souls had reposted them on other websites, including AO3 itself (to those who disagree with the morality of this action, you can discuss that elsewhere. I was just happy to see that the stories which had given me so much respite during hard times were not gone while I was unaware, and that the original author was of course credited.)

This was the real event that incited me to give my own version of the rest of Bésame Mucho a go. Even before I started writing this I knew there will be people who would feel differently about my decision, most probably because a) I am not the original author, and b) my doing so could limit the chances of us seeing the “real” ending. Regarding the second point especially, I know how you feel; no matter how low the possibility may be that George could come back to finish his own stories, it is never an absolute zero. I want that to happen too; nothing would have made me happier to see his activities resurrected and be able to read his ideas written in his own words. But right now, with his account having disappeared without leaving a trace, along with his extraordinary works, I can’t bring myself to believe that will ever happen. And this may sound like a flimsy excuse, but to me, the beauty in fanfiction is the freedom it gives us to interpret stories and write our own, unencumbered by anything except for the limitations of our own imagination and yes, copyright laws, allowing us to fill in the gaps or provide alternate scenarios. While it may be unusual for a fanfiction of another fanfiction to exist, that is exactly what I consider this “continuation” to be. It is my way of providing closure to myself and others who may want it, as well as a tribute to George deValier, who brought us to our knees with his beautiful, beautiful stories about love and loyalty and freedom.

If you have read this far and would still like to continue reading, I just have a couple more notes to make:

First, as repeated numerous times above, this is a fanmade continuation of another, unfinished fanfiction story. I will not be reposting the past chapters of the original Bésame Mucho here, but you will need to have read them yourself if you want to make sense of anything that is happening. As of the time of this writing, there are several places you can do so if you just type “Bésame Mucho Hetalia” in the search bar. If you haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing them for yourself yet, go. Read them and laugh and cry at some of the best writing the Hetalia fandom can offer. Then come back if you think you can stomach someone else trying to make sense of the delusions they’ve been seeing about how things could have ended for the past nine to ten goddamn years.

Second, while not exactly mandatory reading, I will be referencing several characters and events from the other Veraverse fics (which, since this is Hetalia and all the stories exist in the same universe, means there will be copious amounts of crossovers and namedropping). I will in particular be relying on the events detailed in the two stories that were actually finished by George, **Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart** (GerIta), and **We’ll Meet Again** (USUK). A large amount of lines will be lifted directly from AWS especially since the same scenes were set to happen in Bésame Mucho, just from a different character perspective. Some chapters will also have heavy references on another unfinished story called **Lily of the Lamplight** (PruAus plus others) and it’s tie-in, **My Echo** (onesided SwitzAus) though this one’s not so apparent.

The original Bésame Mucho was purportedly set to conclude in fourteen chapters. There are currently six in existence, so I have planned for this story to be written over another eight (including the epilogue). The first chapter should already be uploaded along with this foreword, but since events after that occur close to each other in AWS as well, I am aiming to complete the next several chapters first before uploading in order to check for any inconsistencies. This would mean that there may be a bit of a wait till the next update; I would appreciate it if you could bear with me while I try to work everything out, as I really want to do the original story justice. However, my current plan is to finish the entire story within a year, specifically on August 1, 2021 (in my time zone), which would be the 10th anniversary of Bésame Mucho’s creation. I wanted to be upfront about this because setting a public deadline, though risky, is probably my best bet for staying committed to this project. I don’t want to start a story which sole purpose is to finish another story and abandoning it halfway through – especially not this one.

Finally, to George, if you’re out there somewhere:

I hope I haven’t offended you by writing this fic. I would be lying if I denied it came from a place of desperation as much as love – I had never before so badly wanted to keep myself immersed in the wonderful, devastating world you built in your stories. Lovino and Antonio, as well as Feliciano and Ludwig and Roma and Alfred and Arthur and everybody else – they may not be your original characters, but without question you breathed life into this version of them. We felt what they felt, despaired and cheered through their experiences, hurt and loved as they did. We lived their lives through your words. You made all that possible. I will never, ever forget what you did for us.

I will never attain the level of mastery you have in your writing, nor will I be able to incorporate the amount of details you weaved into your works through, what I imagine, years of extensive research regarding both historical events and the human condition. I am painfully aware that whatever I write will be a mere shadow of what you might have had planned – perhaps not even that. If ever you do feel like the time is right and you want to write the rest of Lovino and Antonio’s story the way you imagined it, please don’t let my inadequate fanfic get in your way. I, along with the rest of your loyal readers, will wait my entire life if that’s what it takes, and we would be so glad to see you back.

Your works opened my eyes to what a fan-written story could achieve. They brought us together and reminded us that love is what overcomes all in the end. During these uncertain times – both on the global scale and, for some like me, at a more personal level – that is a truth we cannot afford to forget. Even if one day your legacy may fade, and people forget that a little anime called Hetalia even existed, I write this with the wish that we who are reading this now will remember that though the story is fictional, the emotions we felt are and will continue to be real and unchanging.

Thank you so, so much for the wonderful gift you gave us. I wish you all the happiness in the beautiful world, wherever you may be.


	2. Chapter 7

_“War is a destroyer and creator, dissolver and evolver, brake and catalyst for every passion, hate and love together. It has the power of stripping man of all his lying vestments; his soul then appears in all its fierce dignity or its cowardice.”_

– Carlo Rosselli, Italian Jewish political leader, journalist, philosopher, and anti-fascist, writing in his essay Compito Nuovo (New Task), (1919).

.

It felt like years had passed the two of them by in the small garden, though Lovino knew from the darkening skies that it had only been an afternoon. Heavy clouds had gathered by the time Antonio stirred on his lap. A sharp, cold breeze blew through the darkened garden, causing both of them to shiver, and Antonio raised his head to blink groggily at Lovino. “I must have fallen asleep,” he said, slightly apologetically, but the small smile he wore told Lovino that he was feeling much better now than a few hours ago.

“You were tired,” Lovino said softly, feeling a small pang as Antonio moved away from him to sit up. What he wouldn’t have given for just a little more time together, to feel the heavy warmth by his side, the soft copper curls under his hand... “Grandpa came and told us to come in when you woke up.”

Antonio froze mid-stretch. “Roma? He didn’t... Wasn’t he upset that I was with you?”

Lovino shrugged. He still didn’t know what to make of that. He fidgeted with his hands, then remembered belatedly that he still had the stupid ring on. Scowling, he said huffily, “It’s not up to him to decide who I should spend my time with. But I don’t think we should keep him waiting much longer.”

Antonio chuckled. “No, that does not sound like a good idea. He probably already thinks of me as unprofessional, sleeping like a vagrant on his property like that.” Picking himself off the ground and dusting his knees, he extended a meaningful hand to Lovino. Lovino looked at it and blushed, but took it all the same. Antonio’s calloused hands felt rough in his own smaller ones. He tried not to linger on them as he was pulled to his feet, but he felt Antonio’s fingers tighten their grip and looked up to see him smiling easily down at him, handsome face closer than he had imagined.

“I almost forgot,” Antonio said gently, “Thank you, Lovino. For taking me here. For staying with me.”

Lovino could feel the colour rise to his cheeks, hear the loud thumping of his heart straining to break out from inside his chest. He could not look away. Antonio was looking at him with the same, dark green eyes he saw behind his eyelids every night before he went to sleep. He tried to think of something to say in reply, but no words came, and only the chirping of the crickets and rustling of the grass around them filled the silence that fell between them.

But far too soon, Antonio glanced quickly at the kitchen window near them and dropped his hand with a disappointed sigh. “Well, let’s go hear what your grandfather has to say then, shall we?” he asked.

Nodding, Lovino moved to follow him out of the garden and through the back door, but paused when his mind flitted back to the topic it had been turning over and over while Antonio slept: his missing brother. Where was Feliciano? He had been listening for the sound of the front door opening and Feliciano announcing his return in his songlike voice, but nothing but the noises of Grandpa Roma moving about in the house had reached his ears.

“Lovino?” called Antonio from the open doorway.

He jerked out of his reverie. “Um, go inside ahead of me. I’ll be there in a second.”

Brief concern passed over Antonio’s face, but he nodded and closed the back door after him. Lovino’s own thoughts gnawed at the edges of his mind as he made his way around to the front of the house, and stared out into the darkened pathway stretching across the fields. The afternoon was already quite late, and the market would have been closed for hours now. Feliciano was acting strangely lately, now that he thought about it. He seemed even happier than he usually was, if that were even possible, as though he was floating on clouds. He hadn’t even seemed all that distressed the night before, after he had supposedly witnessed resistance members being marched into the town square by the Gestapo. Lovino had been too wrapped up in his own problems that night to take proper note, but the thought of an execution so close to home should have kept his brother awake throughout the night. And there were other things that warranted an explanation...

He stayed a while more to scan the path, squinting through the dimming light in hopes of catching his brother as he returned. But as the last rays of sun disappeared under the gathering clouds, he gave up, and trudged slowly back into the house. He would have to question him inside, somewhere out of Grandpa’s earshot. He didn’t know why it should be a secret – heavens knew Feliciano couldn’t keep one to save his life – but the same niggling feeling he had had back in the garden told him to check on Feliciano privately first.

Inside, the warmth from the fireplace provided a grateful relief from the chilly winds. Lovino quietly stepped past where Antonio and Roma were poring over documents in the front room. He couldn’t see Antonio’s face from where he sat at the table. Roma seemed to be too deep in thought to notice him, brows furrowing as he spoke.

“...so soon after what happened? Antonio, I still don’t see...”

“I will ensure it takes place in an area our resistance is not associated with,” said Antonio. “It will be quick and clean.”

Pricking up his ears, Lovino made to sit on the far end of the couch below the stairs, just barely out of sight from the pair. He wondered what he had missed in the conversation.

Whatever it was they were discussing, Roma sounded unconvinced. “I do not doubt your skills in this from our past missions together. But I also don’t feel the benefits outweigh the risks. You would be putting yourself in even greater danger, my friend.”

Lovino’s blood chilled at his grandfather’s words, and his breath stopped in his lungs. What was Antonio getting himself into now? He was already a wanted man, perhaps the greatest prize to the Nazis in their part of Europe. How much farther was he willing to go to get himself killed?

He heard Antonio let out a short laugh, bone-dry and void of mirth. “Roma, so long as we are dealing with men like these, the danger will always be there. But we can control, to an extent, who those teeth are bared towards. You are the one thing holding down the Resistenza in these parts; your presence is needed here, and the safety of your family is paramount. I, on the other hand, can move around more freely; they will waste valuable expenses trying to sniff me out. I shall only need a little bait. Besides, compared to you and what you mean to the people fighting here, I am–”

“Stop, Antonio. Say no more. Please,” Grandpa’s tired voice cut him off before Lovino could hear the rest of his words through the roaring in his ears, but he had heard enough to understand. Antonio was going to put himself in the line of fire, deliberately this time, for his family. _For you. It was always for you._ Roma’s words from just a few hours ago rushed back to him, stinging now in accusation. His breath came short and he clutched as his chest to keep himself from fainting. The thought that Antonio might end up dead – or worse – because of him had never been far from his mind these past years, but he had almost allowed himself to forget, to believe in the fantasy that he could stop that from happening during the brief, peaceful time in the garden. Their pointless talk about their plans for after the war had planted unnecessary hope in his mind for a future that was near impossible to achieve. He had learnt only yesterday that Antonio would truly give his own life to protect him; how could he have forgotten so easily?

Something hard was digging into his ribs. Blankly, he released his hands and was met with the sight of that little silver ring glinting in the lamplight. His eyes drifted automatically to the words engraved on it: _Te quiero_. His vision began to blur as he recalled Antonio’s tired face brightening when he had spoken those words. If he had meant them with all his heart...if his resolve had been fully made...

Quickly, Lovino tore off the ring from his finger, stuffing it into his trouser pocket. It’s weight lay reprovingly against his leg, heavy as lead, and he tried to ignore its presence – as well as what it had nearly, nearly meant – by focusing his attention back on the conversation in the front room. The subject had shifted while he had been lost in his thoughts.

“...So the Americans will be landing as planned next Wednesday, and the Germans are still none the wiser. They will be taken by surprise when the Mustangs fly in to destroy the base. I will need to take a closer look at the information Feliciano collected for us before the meeting tomorrow; it is crucial that we do not overlook any detail, no matter how small.”

Americans. Another foreign force from outside coming to take the Germans’ place in their village. Lovino wondered tiredly if their presence would change anything. Would Antonio finally be released from the dangerous missions he undertook? Would he leave to move onto towns that needed his help more, as he had done in the past? All Lovino knew was that no matter where he looked, so long as this unending war threatened Italy, there was no respite from the anxiety that gripped him day and night, no sure path where he could be with Antonio without the constant fear of having him taken away. He closed his eyes, wishing not for the first time that he could be braver than he was born to be.

The sound of the front door creaking open startled him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Feliciano finally tiptoeing in, shivering from the cold night winds. He carefully placed his basket on the small table beside the door, and scurried over to where Lovino was sat, casting a wary glance at their grandfather and Antonio.

“You’re home late. Again,” he muttered as Feliciano flopped down next to him on the couch. The rims of his brother’s eyes were slightly pink, as though they had been rubbed hard. Feliciano avoided his gaze by staring at a spot on the ground.

“Well, it was such a pleasant evening. I was enjoying the walk.”

Lovino blinked at him. “Pleasant? But it’s damn freezing today.”

“I like the cold,” said Feliciano, an uncharacteristic defensiveness creeping into his voice.

The suspicious feeling at the back of his mind was growing, and Lovino studied Feliciano’s nervous expression closely. “No, you don’t.” He noticed something else. “And where are the groceries? Weren’t you supposed to go to the market?”

“I meant to, but I...um...” Feliciano shifted slightly on his seat, fingers worrying at a shirt button. “I got delayed.”

“Delayed? Doing what?”

“Picking flowers.”

 _Picking..._ Lovino’s annoyance flared for a second. Did Feli seriously think he would believe that?

“This is the third day in a row you have missed the market,” he said accusingly. “I’m not stupid, Feliciano, I know something is up.”

Feliciano’s gaze flickered down to Lovino’s hand resting on the couch between them, before meeting his eye with an unnerving steadiness. “I see you’re not wearing your ring.”

He was obviously trying to divert Lovino’s attention away from him, but the small, round hardness resting in his pocket was enough to remind Lovino again of his torturous thoughts before Feli had come home. He shot a sharp glare at Feliciano instead of a response, before refocusing his attention to the conversation near them.

“...the fourth bombing raid harming civilians in the last month,” Antonio was saying. “These raids are flying out of the nearby German airbase which is why the Americans’ mission is of vital importance to us. It is obvious the Germans are moving on from their counterattacks against the British. Last night their Heinkels killed nearly one hundred non-military personnel.”

“What’s a Heinkel?” Feliciano’s question seemed to break through the invisible wall erected between the table and where the brothers sat. Antonio and Roma raised their heads to stare at Feliciano as if they had only just registered his presence. Lovino turned to look at him in surprise as well.

“It’s a German plane,” answered Antonio after a long pause. “A bomber.”

“So, it’s these Heinkels that bomb people?” Feliciano continued to ask. He didn’t even seem to notice that the entire room’s attention was now on him. “Not the Mrs Schmitt’s?”

“The what?” said Antonio, confusion evident in his voice. “The... Messerschmitts? Is that what you mean?”

“Yes. The Messerschmitt Bf 109.”

There was another stunned silence, before Lovino voiced the question that was on all of their minds. “How the hell do you know what a Messerschmitt is, Feliciano?”

At that, Feliciano faltered. “I... um... I just overheard it somewhere.”

 _Bullshit._ Feliciano was a terrible liar, even worse than him. What was more, he had never once involved himself in conversations like this, not even at Resistenza meetings.

“Messerschmitts are fighter planes. Not bombers. They only attack other pilots,” explained Antonio. Feliciano’s eyes widened.

“Not civilians?” he asked.

“No,” said Antonio, and Lovino watched as, strangely, an expression of relief fell over his brother’s face. “However... it is entirely possible that the Messerschmitts could be escorting the Heinkels, especially now that the British counterattacks have been slowing down.”

“Hmm. That could be a problem for the Americans,” murmured Roma.

“Yes, exactly. That’s definitely something we will have to look into. Where did you hear people talking about Messerschmitts, Feliciano?”

The look of relief had been replaced by one of panicked distress. “I don’t remember,” said Feliciano in a hushed tone, but Lovino could tell that he clearly did. “And I... I was just wondering... did they, the Germans, did they mean to kill civilians? Was that what they were trying to do? It could have been a mistake, couldn’t it? I’m quite sure it was a mistake,” he continued desperately.

Lovino couldn’t understand what Feliciano was thinking; the Germans were their enemies, it didn’t get as complicated as that. His irritation towards his brother was starting to set in. “Does it matter?” he demanded.

Feliciano’s eyes flickered towards him before quickly looking away again. “I just wondered.”

Antonio spoke hesitantly from the table. “It seems their target was a munitions factory, but of course they would have known civilian casualties were an inevitability.”

Feliciano was looking increasingly agitated, his words tumbling over each other as he rushed to get them out. “But they didn’t mean to? They didn’t deliberately try and kill innocent people? Why would they...” He looked like he would be sick, and at that moment, Lovino hated him for his naivety. “Why would they do that, it wouldn’t make sense would it?”

 _For God’s sake..._ “It made sense to them during the Battle of Britain,” Lovino spat. Had Feliciano truly been living with his head in the clouds, all this time as the war slowly took their lives apart? News of losses and atrocities found their way to them constantly, and while Lovino had listened to them even as the shock and nausea made him feel numb, Feliciano had been content on ignoring them for the sake of his own little paradise. He thought about Antonio, leaning against the back garden wall next to him, eyes looking into the distance as unspeakable scenes played before them. “Ever heard of ‘terror bombing’? Ask Antonio about Guernica.”

Instantly, he felt sorry that he had said it. Clamping his mouth shut, he glanced over at where Antonio sat with wide eyes, apologising silently. Antonio had disclosed his experiences to him alone, and though it was unspoken, their conversations in the garden had always felt private. A sudden cold washed over him as he imagined Antonio being angry at him for having betrayed his trust, and swearing to never speak of such things with him again... But Antonio only blinked and flashed him a quick smile, albeit tinged with worry and confusion, before turning his attention back to Feliciano. Despite himself, Lovino felt as if a load had been taken off his heart.

Feliciano didn’t even seem to have acknowledged his words, shaking his head vigorously. “I can’t... I don’t under...” he said helplessly.

“We don’t always know what the Germans...”

“That’s enough,” Roma cut Antonio off harshly, before speaking in a softer tone. “This type of talk upsets him easily.”

Feliciano bristled. “I just wanted to know...”

“It’s alright, Feli,” Grandpa said in the calm, soothing voice he always used specifically for Feliciano. Lovino felt the old, familiar bitterness rise up within him before he shook his head, mentally quashing the ugly sensation. “Don’t upset yourself. You don’t have to listen to this. In fact, I don’t think it’s a good idea that you do.”

 _This sort of treatment is why he is like this_ , thought Lovino darkly. _He needs to know the truth._

“No,” Feliciano argued, surprising Lovino yet again. Unlike him, Feli hardly ever spoke up to their grandfather. “I want to listen, I...”

“No. Look, you’re tired, Feli. Did you take any photographs today?” Roma smiled at his youngest grandson.

For a second, Feli looked like a deer caught in the headlights before he dropped his gaze, head drooping forward in defeat. “A few,” he whispered.

“Why don’t you go and develop them,” suggested Roma kindly, “and then we’ll listen to the radio before we make dinner?”

Lovino watched silently as his brother nodded dumbly, got up to retrieve his camera from the basket before padding softly to the back of the house where the dark room was. Roma and Antonio were both silent until he had gone from the room.

“Is he all right?” Antonio asked concernedly. Roma sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

“It’s the talk of casualties. It disturbs him.”

Antonio nodded, but Lovino could almost see the gears in his head whirling to digest the information he had just been presented.

“I understand,” he said, “but I think you should ask him what he heard about their Messerschmitts, Roma. That kind of information is vital right now.”

“I’ll ask him,” Lovino said immediately as he saw Grandpa hesitate. After a brief moment, Roma nodded, and Antonio gave him a grateful smile that made his heart skip a beat. He stood and followed his brother to the cellar down the hallway, nails biting into the palms of his hands as he hardened his resolve to get a clear answer about what the hell was going on, once and for all.

.

Feliciano was standing with his back to him when he entered the room, his figure silhouetted by the dim lantern light. Lovino closed the door behind him gently. Years ago, he crumpled to Feliciano’s incessant begging and taught him how to develop the photographs they took with Grandpa’s old camera here. He remembered how Feliciano had squealed in delight as the images of their countryside floated up to the surface, large eyes shining as he took them delicately into his hands in wonderment.

Now, however, was not the time for reminiscing. He steeled himself and walked up to his brother, who made no move to acknowledge him except with a flat greeting. “Hello, Lovino.”

He gritted his teeth before speaking. “All right. Tell me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not yourself lately,” Lovino said. “Missing the market, coming home late. Your sudden interest in Grandpa’s conversations about the cause. There’s something going on.”

Feliciano’s voice wavered as he answered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

So this was how Feliciano wanted to play it. Fine, then. Lovino drew in a long breath and changed tactics. He reached into his pocket for the crumpled chocolate wrapper and drew it out, holding it tightly in his balled fist.

“Well maybe you can explain something to me,” he said, before going in for the kill. “That chocolate you gave me the other day.”

Feliciano’s movements stilled. Lovino knew he had hit the target on the nose.

“What about it?” Still his brother tried to deflect his suspicions. Narrowing his eyes, Lovino stepped closer to him as he dropped his voice to an intimidating tone.

“I didn’t give it much thought at the time,” another step, and another, “but it’s strange, isn’t it. I mean, there hasn’t been any chocolate around since the war started.”

This close, he could hear Feliciano’s breath coming in short, little gasps. “No, I... I...”

“Where did you get it?” He stopped in front of his brother, almost nose-to-nose as he searched Feliciano’s perspiring face in the flickering lamplight. He waited as Feliciano opened his mouth once, closed it again and wet his cracked lips.

“Um,” he said, shakily. “Someone gave it to me, and...”

He had him. Lovino held out the hand gripping the wrapper and opened it, and watched as Feliciano’s eyes widened in recognition after several heartbeats. The cracked orange surface glinted in the dark room, the unmistakably German _Schokolade_ printed on it in brown, cursive writing.

Feliciano floundered, before settling on, “I found it.”

Lovino narrowed his eyes in growing impatience. “I thought you said someone gave it to you,” he said accusingly, before something caught his eye that made him stop in his tracks. He hardly even heard whatever excuse Feliciano was blabbering now as his mind screeched to a halt at the sight before him.

Feliciano was holding two photographs, obviously newly developed. One was of a man, with broad shoulders and blonde hair slicked back, sitting on a crumbling brick wall with a heavy iron cross hanging from his neck on a chain. His unsmiling eyes looked straight out at Lovino from the picture. The other was of Feliciano from what looked like the same spot, eyes crinkled in a wide, cheerful smile, a grey military jacket resting on his shoulders. Lovino felt his breath leave him as his focus zoomed in on the uniform Feliciano was wearing, fixing onto the black eagle, that cursed mark...

“Lovino...” Feliciano’s small, frightened voice finally made him tear his gaze from the pictures. His brother was staring at him with a terrified look in his eyes. He seemed petrified, waiting for Lovino to say something, but his brain was having difficulty connecting the images in front of him with reality.

“I never...” Lovino started, looking down at the pictures again, searching for clues he might have missed and finding none. “I never expected...” He shook his head. Everything was starting to come together, but it all still felt disjointed somehow. The German chocolate, Feliciano coming home without the groceries, his long walks out... “Is this a mission?” he asked as the idea dawned on him. “A mission no one told me about?”

Silently, he begged for it to be the correct answer, for Feliciano to nod in affirmation. Anything was better than what it appeared to be.

But Feliciano’s response drove in the impossible truth. “No,” he whispered, avoiding Lovino’s disbelieving stare. “It’s not a mission.”

Something cold coiled in Lovino’s chest. He took the photograph of Feliciano and held it before him with trembling fingers. “Do you see that coat?” His voice sounded more composed than he felt, even to his own ears. He continued, “Did you look at those symbols on that coat you’re wearing?” When Feliciano tried to avert his gaze, he followed it, thrusting the picture into his face. “Do you know what they stand for?”

Feliciano whipped his head up frantically. “I didn’t think about that, it wasn’t about that! I was just cold and Ludwig...”

“Ludwig?” Lovino repeated. The twisted feeling grew, writhing like a snake restless for a hunt. The room seemed impossibly hot and icy cold at the same time.

“That’s his name,” said Feliciano, voice hushed.

“His name,” Lovino echoed again. “This German soldier you have a photograph of... whose coat you’re wearing.”

“He’s not a soldier, he’s a pilot,” said Feliciano desperately. A harsh laugh escaped Lovino at his words.

“Oh, I see. Well that makes sense now.” The edges of his vision were turning red. “But I really don’t give a shit what section of the military he belongs to. He’s a German, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Feliciano whispered, and he squeezed his eyes shut as though he was close to giving in.

“And you have a photograph of him because...”

“Because he’s... he’s my... friend.”

Lovino felt something inside him snap as he finally let the burning sensation in his chest engulf him. “Feliciano, you complete idiot, what the hell are you thinking! Have you gone completely insane?” He was aware he was yelling, his voice reverberating around the small room, making Feliciano flinch. He didn’t care. All that work, all that danger they went through, and now... “What have you told him?”

Feliciano jerked as he stared at Lovino in shock. “No! It’s not like that, I swear!” he cried, wringing his hands together in despair. “He just... he’s really nice, Lovino, even though he looks scary, he’s not, he’s...”

Lovino couldn’t believe his ears. “Have you lost your mind?” he shouted.

“...and we don’t speak about the war, or about the cause, or any of it, I just like to be with him, and...”

“Oh God, Feliciano, stop, what the hell are you saying...” Surely his brother was playing the fool. No one could actually be so dumb. But Feliciano went on, his high voice rising to match Lovino’s.

“And he’s honourable and good and he likes being with me and I...” Feliciano faltered, but his next words were quiet and sure. “I think I’m in love with him.”

There was a deafening silence. Lovino stared at Feliciano as though he had never seen him before. _I think I’m in love with him._ He felt the strength leave his knees as he registered what Feliciano had just uttered. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but to no avail. Stepping back shakily, he reached for some purchase, finding the sleek hardness of a chair and collapsing into it.

All the while, his eyes could not leave his brother’s face. _I think I’m in love with him._

“Feliciano, you complete idiot,” Lovino whispered finally. His brother at least had the decency to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His gaze was imploring. “I couldn’t help it.”

Lovino moaned softly, dropping his head into his hands to stare blankly at the wooden floorboards from between his knees. “Oh, Feli. I knew you had been acting differently lately. I would have noticed earlier if I hadn’t been...” Antonio’s face rose unbidden from the depths of his mind, and with it, the memories; the feeling of Antonio’s weight on him as he pressed down on him in the ditch, Antonio’s body shaking with laughter against his as they walked beneath the stars, the way his heart ached at the sight of Antonio’s exhausted form, shadowed eyes meeting his in the cantina. He blushed and inhaled unsteadily. “How did you even meet him?”

“When I was walking to the village, last week, an angry soldier tried to hit me, but Ludwig stopped him,” Feliciano said softly.

Lovino raised his head quickly. “Does he know you’re Resistenza?” Feliciano looked appalled at even being asked.

“Of course not!”

At least he had the sense not to immediately put all of their lives in terrible danger. But still... He fixed a hard look on Feliciano. “Do you know what he would do to you if he did?”

Immediately Feliciano was shaking his head, so vigorously that his hair flared around him. “No. No, he would never hurt me, I know it, he...”

“Do you have any idea what Gestapo...” began Lovino.

“I told you, he’s a pilot!” cried Feliciano. “He’s not Gestapo, he’s not like that!”

“What did you think...”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, I didn’t think anything, I don’t care,” Feliciano’s voice was growing tearful, and he looked like he could not stop the words from spilling out of him. “Please stop asking me these questions, I don’t have any answers, I just love him and want to be with him and that’s all I know and oh God, please, please don’t tell Grandpa, he’ll...”

Grandpa. Lovino didn’t have to imagine how he would take the news. His precious little Feliciano, harbouring feelings for the enemy... He rose to his feet slowly. “Feliciano. I don’t think you realise how serious this is.”

Feliciano stared at him, fear written plainly on his face. He clasped at his violently trembling hands as he spoke. “Please Lovino. Don’t tell Grandpa.” His eyes were begging.

“Of course I won’t tell him. It would kill him. But you must never see this German again.”

Feliciano’s face turned sickeningly pale before he was shaking his head again. “No.”

His temper was rearing its head again. How could his brother not understand? “I’m serious, Feli, this is not a game!” Lovino said furiously.

“You can’t stop me,” said Feliciano, pleadingly. His breath was coming in short hiccups, and he blinked rapidly. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.”

The sight of his brother holding back tears, wearing the same unchanging expression he had worn since they were little children, doused his anger and replaced it with a strange, still sorrow. He of all people knew that no one had the power to choose who to love, and Feliciano had always been the dreamer between them, true to his feelings and acting on impulse. Lovino stepped closer to Feliciano and took him by the shoulder gently, ignoring how he flinched underneath his hand. He spoke softly, trying to get his brother to see reality. “Feli, you must have realized that he would not be stationed here forever. You must have known that this was going to end.” Dimly, he was aware these were the same words he told himself in the early hours of the day. “I mean, what did you think was going to happen?”

But if Feliciano had heard him, he showed no signs of comprehending. “Please,” he whispered, as fat tears started to roll down his cheeks. He looked like he might say more, but at that moment, the sound of heavy footsteps and the door opening startled both of them.

“Come on boys, I thought we were going to listen to the radio before dinner!” Roma said cheerfully. Lovino quickly turned to hide Feliciano behind him as best he could. His grandfather stopped just inside the doorway, blinking as he made out Feli’s sniffling figure in the dark before looking to Lovino in bewilderment. “Is something wrong?”

He didn’t give himself any time to reconsider his earlier promise to Feliciano. “No,” replied Lovino. “We were just coming now.”

Casting Feliciano a last, worried glance, he brushed past Roma and hurried to the kitchen, unwilling to let his Grandpa catch a good look at the warring emotions he was sure was showing on his face. He paused when he realised there were no sounds coming from the front room. “Where is Antonio?” he asked as Roma came up from behind.

There was a moment of hesitation, before Roma replied lightly, “He had some work that remained to be done, so he’s already gone home for tonight.” He did not elaborate any further.

His already dark mood worsened as, for some inexplicable reason, Lovino’s mind jumped instantly to the conversation between Antonio and his grandfather some twenty minutes past. His brother was in love with a German and Antonio was out there, fighting alone for the cause. His Grandpa would not tell him what it was he was doing, treating him like a child, like Feliciano. For a mad instant he thought about putting his foot down and demanding answers, about stating his right to know what Antonio was putting himself through, when he was doing it for him.

But the momentary fantasy died as he remembered his argument with his Grandpa from last night, and his instant denial of Roma’s sudden question. _Do you love him, Lovino?_ The shame bubbled up again from the depth of his stomach, as fresh as it had felt the night before. Feliciano may be a helpless fool, but he was a coward who could not face his own feelings. What right did he have then to involve himself with Antonio’s affairs, if he could not freely reciprocate his love?

So he simply shrugged, and, forcing his face blank, continued on to the kitchen as though his heart didn’t feel like it was about to collapse. He could feel Roma’s silent gaze following his retreating back. The ring still lay in his pocket, and for all he did to try to take his mind off of it, it felt like the metal could burn through the fabric and sear into his skin.

.

The deep, raucous laughter reached Antonio’s ears before he had even turned the corner. That was a good sign, at least; the Germans were having a merry time to themselves, still unaware of their enemy’s machinations working under their noses. Perhaps they would not pay a haggard-looking Spaniard too much attention until they realised what had happened the next morning. By then he would be safely back in his corner of town, and any inquiries made about him would be deflected by the other resistance members. But he will need to get through tonight in one piece first.

He ran a worried hand over his unshaven chin as the Cantina Rosso came into sight. There had been no time other than to throw on some new clothes to replace his grass-stained ones when he had stopped by his apartment earlier. The evening was already growing old, and though the Turk was certain to have delivered on the promise he had bought with that pouch of gold coins, there was no guarantee how long his target would stay. He should have set up post ages ago.

Not for the first time, he wished he had been able to speak with Lovino one last time before he had to leave. There was always the chance that he would be recognised here; all of the German officers he had directly met in the past were now dead by virtue of the resistance’s careful execution, but if they had ever spoken about him to their fellow soldiers... He tried to reason with himself for the thousandth time that that was unlikely, as they would have been admitting to leaking information without consulting their superiors, and he would have been caught much sooner if that were the case. His nerves were starting to get the better of him, which was a rare occurrence nowadays. Lovino would have been able to soothe him with just a few words, or even one look. He would only have to glance up at Antonio from under dark brown lashes in that bashful, confused way he did, and Antonio would feel like he could move mountains for him. But time had been of the essence – and besides, it had been obvious that Roma was eager for him to be on his way before Lovino returned from his talk with Feliciano. The familiar frustration threatened to seep into his mind again, as he thought of Roma acting like some gatekeeper protecting his grandson from the corruption that was Antonio, but he shook it away. He had to focus. He had to live to see Lovino once morning arrived.

Pausing in front of the cantina’s doors, he listened as another smattering of cheers sounded from within. If he strained his ears Antonio could make out the hard consonants so indicative of the German language amidst the general murmur. Taking a deep breath and feeling much like he was about to enter the lion’s den, he pushed open the doors and stepped into the light that spilled out of the gap and onto the terrace.

A couple of curious heads turned as he entered, but their interest soon dissipated as they were drawn back into conversation. Trying to ignore the fast thumping in his chest, Antonio headed to the counter and ordered a bottle and two glasses. As he waited, he gave the cantina a quick scan. As expected, it was mostly occupied by grey-uniformed officers, talking amongst each other in clusters. A few locals sat together in the far corner, keeping their distance from the German soldiers. There was no sign of the man he was looking for. For a split second Antonio feared he had been too late, and had risked coming here for nothing, but then a waiter stepped away from the table he had been taking orders from. Behind him sat a large, hulking man in a creased white shirt, a scar stretching across his face. Even out of uniform and in plain clothes, Antonio knew this was the man he had been told of. Hesse, the Gestapo interrogator responsible for yesterday’s execution.

Antonio grabbed the bottle set out for him and, with a deep breath, strode over to where Hesse sat alone at his table, glowering into his drink as the merrymaking of the military officers filled the air around him. He forced his lips into a wide grin, set the glasses down on the table surface with a clunk, and greeted him in heavily accented German. “Good evening, Señor!”

The Gestapo officer looked up at him, dark eyes glittering unpleasantly. He was silent for so long Antonio could feel his cheek muscles start to twitch, but finally he spoke, voice lowered menacingly. “This seat’s taken.”

Antonio paid him no mind. “My apologies! But I looked over and saw you sitting here without a companion. Nobody should be drinking alone in Italy!” He started pouring the copper-brown liquid from the bottle into the glasses, smile unwavering.

Hesse growled. “Do you know who I–”

“A man a long way from home, and missing the simple pleasures of it, I wager.” Antonio plopped himself down on the remaining chair opposite the German, and slid one of the glasses towards him calmly. He dropped his voice. “And pleasure is a special commodity of mine.” He winked.

The man froze, his face turning chalk white, then reddening. “You’re–” he spluttered. “Do... do you mean to take me for a–”

“Oh dear, no,” Antonio laughed. “I’m not on the market, if that’s what you thought. I wouldn’t insult you like that.” He took a long swig of his drink, half for show, half to calm his own jitters. “I have a handful of young women in my employ. Collected from all around Italy, each of them as comely and beddable as the next. Starving families can be desperate in these times.” He swirled the golden liquid in its glass, smiling eyes never leaving Hesse’s. “The problem lies with finding good, discreet customers, but I have an eye for them. Think of that,” he nodded at the untouched glass between them, “as a sign of my goodwill. Maybe I’ll even throw in a discount for a soldier of the country that helped us win our civil war.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between them. To Antonio, it felt as if the boisterous laughter of the men around them was coming from somewhere far away. His palms were drenched in sweat. Still, he held his gaze and his confident, unwavering smirk, watching and waiting for the other man to react.

The Gestapo officer looked at him, then down at the drink, then back at him again, before sneering and grabbing the glass. “Finally, someone who understands a man’s needs.” He downed the glass before slamming it roughly back onto the table.

Relief flooded Antonio, though he took care not to show it. He immediately refilled Hesse’s glass and raised his own. “To the war! To opportunities that would have passed us in the night otherwise.”

Hesse didn’t match his toast, but he scoffed in dark amusement as he swallowed another mouthful. “So. Spanish, are we? What’re you doing in a backwoods shithole like this?”

Antonio wondered if the man had stones for eyes to call this quaint, picturesque Italian village a “shithole”, but shrugged nonetheless. “Unfortunately, business is bad back at home,” he said ruefully. “The war did quite a number on our economy, and no one can pay full price for anything. Here, though... Well, there’re plenty of tourists looking for companionship, that’s for sure.”

Hesse’s brows knitted together. “And you count me as one of these ‘tourists’. You better not be working some scam, Spaniard. I can just as easily load you with bullets instead of coin.”

“I’m not so suicidal to try that, my friend, and I wouldn’t have been so open about it if that were the case,” Antonio said smoothly. “Still, I won’t hide that there is risk involved in this kind of trade. The coin must at least meet that.”

The German snorted and poured himself another glass. “Whatever. It’s been months since I’ve fucked a good whore. There sure weren’t any where I was last stationed.”

“Oh?” Antonio feigned his interest, glad for an opportunity to steer the conversation away from his non-existent “trade”. “Where was that, if you’re permitted to say?”

Hesse’s face darkened. “The Eastern Front. Fighting Russians. Thought I would freeze my balls off every night, and it was _summer_.”

 _An interrogator, and former prisoner, newly arrived from the Eastern Front._ Antonio sipped at his drink. He never had a reason to doubt the Turk’s intel, but it was rare that he heard it confirmed by the target’s own mouth.

“I was stuck there with a gun-crazy Swiss as a captain and a bunch of filthy, wannabe soldiers who nobody in their right mind would mistake for a woman. The only one who got close was this Austrian guy, and he...” He broke off, glowering at an imaginary spot on the table, before spitting viciously onto the floor. “Anyway, I got the last laugh. Those poor bastards are probably dead in a ditch somewhere by now, corpses all frosted over.”

Antonio nodded, reaching over to top up the other man’s glass again. “That is no small feat, escaping a hell like that to reach your current position. Might I ask how you did it?”

At that, the most disgusting, hateful grin Antonio had ever seen on a human being stretched across Hesse’s face. “Oh, now _that’s_ a story. See, the Austrian I mentioned, he was a musician, and a pretty famous one among the upper circles at that – except under a different surname. It took me a while to make all the connections, but it turned out he’d taken on his wife’s name after they’d gotten married. You know why?” He giggled, as though reliving the excitement of finding out exactly why for the first time and unable to keep it in. “He was an ‘Edelstein’. A fucking Jew. I reported him and they got me out of there faster than you could say ‘Kristallnacht’, and gave me this cushy job as a way of telling me to keep up the good work.” He knocked back another glass, sighing satisfactorily and wiping his leering mouth with the back of his hand. “You know what I think? I’d say someone up there was looking out for me, only way to explain the cards I was dealt. We aren’t called the Master Race for no reason.”

Antonio said, “Wow,” and kept his smiling mask up, but something cold and hard had settled in his stomach. His conviction from the night before rushed back to him in full clarity. This man was going to die tonight.

He finished his own glass and emptied the contents of the bottle into Hesse’s, the faster to end this conversation and the job. Hesse rambled on for some more, but upon tipping the last drops of drink out onto his tongue, he stopped and frowned. “Damn, that went away fast. These poncey Italians and their sissy drinks. You could get twice as much for the same price back home.” He stood and grabbed his black coat, swaying slightly on the spot, large frame dwarfing Antonio’s. “At least this one was on you, eh? Now, for the real fun.”

Antonio followed suit and rose from his seat. “Of course! The main course of the night. Right this way, Señor.”

It would have been too suspicious to have the other man exit first, so Antonio lead the way, back prickling uncomfortably even as they stepped out into the cold night air. He blathered on cheerfully as they wound through the dark streets. “I have some comfortable rooms rented just north of here. Very private, and the landlord well paid; you could come and go without anybody caring...”

As he spoke, his mind turned over the plan for the umpteenth time. There were no rooms, but there was an old apartment he knew to be unoccupied where he had once hidden some of his personal effects. Patrols in this area of town were sparse; the buildings were mostly made of local storehouses, and he was taking precautions by choosing to travel down side-alleys and backstreets. Antonio ran his fingers over the knife hilt hidden just under his trouser line. If he could distract Hesse for a brief second... Antonio was fairly sure the amount of drink he had gotten into the other man would slow his reaction enough to be caught unawares. One second was all he needed, but he would have to be precise. The German was big, and could easily overpower him if not taken by surprise.

This was almost as nerve-wracking as the time Lovino had snuck into the back of his truck, and had to witness him confront two enemy officers with less than admirable intentions. Or just a day ago, when they had hidden from a patrol walking just feet above their heads. Antonio smiled despite himself. Nothing was worse than Lovino’s life being threatened, not even this. Strangely, he was cheered by the thought. 

But as they turned a corner down a narrow street, something struck him across the back and sent him sprawling into the nearby wall. He hit it, chest first, feeling the wind being knocked out of him before something hard dug into the small of his back.

“You know, I just had a thought,” sneered Hesse. “Why should I pay you when I could just take what I’m due for free?”

Antonio coughed, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the rough brick wall. Silently, he cursed himself for having turned his attention elsewhere at such a crucial time. “Señor, I don’t–”

The side of the pistol struck him across the temple, and only his half-expecting the impact allowed Antonio to keep his balance. He blinked rapidly as stars formed in his sight.

“You thought you could get the better of me, Spaniard?” Hesse growled. “Thought you could soften me and my wallet up with a drink? You’d forgotten one little thing. I’m the fucking Gestapo. I can get you arrested – and worse – for your little business.” His breath was hot against Antonio’s neck and stank of alcohol. “You should have known that; still, you had to try and test your luck, huh. But not all has to end for you, if you do as you’re told.”

Antonio grit his teeth and turned his head as much as he dared to catch the other man in his peripheral vision, and shifted his weight onto one foot. “P-please,” he gasped weakly, raising his hands. “I-I’ll do anything, just plea–”

He twisted, catching the arm holding the gun by the wrist in one hand and jerking the barrel away, kicking the ground simultaneously to barrel himself into the other man. Hesse yelled in surprise, almost falling backwards, but his heavier weight prevented him from toppling over completely. Antonio pressed his body against the German’s as closely as he could to avoid being kicked, his other hand already scrambling for the metal hidden under his clothes. Just as Hesse’s free arm rose to strike him, he tore his knife out and drove it into the officer’s gut, and twisted.

Hesse let out a howl that sounded more animal than human, but Antonio forced himself to keep moving. Yanking the knife out, he grabbed for and snatched the pistol out of Hesse’s slackened grip. He took two quick steps back, pointed the muzzle at Hesse’s broad chest – heaving in pain, white shirt already blooming red underneath – with steady hands, and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out into the night, and distantly Antonio recalled the escape route he had planned and would now need to adjust. Still, he kept the gun trained on the wounded man even as he swayed violently on his feet. Hesse kept his arms outstretched, made a feeble motion as if to reach out to Antonio, before it seemed that all his strength had left him and he keeled over, head hitting the cobblestoned street hard.

Antonio suddenly remembered he needed to breathe, but wasted no time in putting away the gun and stepping over the writhing body. He placed a foot on Hesse’s back, just above the wound in his stomach, and pressed down hard. A strangled, high-pitched cry of pain escaped the man beneath him.

“Don’t worry,” said Antonio. “You won’t be feeling that for much longer.”

Hesse struggled weakly against his weight, one side of his face turned up to gasp for air. Antonio could see the desperation in his eyes, pupils dilated and skittering wildly, and felt a sick satisfaction at the sight.

“Please,” Hesse begged, even as his lips turned purple and dark, shining liquid seeped out from his body, running in rivulets between the gaps of the stones beneath him. “I’m not meant – not like this, not–”

He needed to be quick. Antonio bent down, grabbed the man by his oily hair, tilting his head up and exposing the pale underside of his neck. Hesse let out a weak keen as he pressed the cold blade of his knife against the soft skin. “For the Resistance,” Antonio breathed, and slit the man’s throat in one movement.

The man made a gurgling sound as blood gushed out of the open wound, splattering onto the ground. Antonio held the head for a few seconds more, before letting it drop lifelessly with a dull thud, and watched the light fade from the open eyes. He listened for any other sounds around him before straightening and stepping over the body, taking care to avoid the pooling blood. The gunshot would have alerted any soldiers in the area and sent them running by now, but while it looked to be that luck had smiled upon him once more, Antonio was not about to take any chances. Briskly, he left the body and set down the dark path, pausing only to check around the corners before making his long, winding way back to the other end of the town, where the safety of his rooms opposite the Cantina Verde awaited him.

 _For the Resistance. For Italy._ The words swirled in his mind as he ducked into the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Hesse was not the first man he had killed, and certainly not the most innocent. Antonio knew that, given the choice, he would do it again. Tomorrow, the Secret Police could come and break down his doors to arrest him, and despite his bold words to Roma he may not be able to outrun them...but he would still do it again. He would do it with the knowledge that he was ridding the world of a monster, a brute who thought nothing of the sufferings of others, and his death was more than a fair price to pay to keep the Gestapo away from the people Antonio cared for. And even should he fail (any other day, he would refuse to think on the implications of that, focusing instead on what he must do and the means to achieve it) the Gestapo would still be one man less who could hurt the person Antonio loved.

He stopped in his tracks, feeling his lungs aching for air. Slowly, shakily, he breathed in through his nose, trying to calm his spinning mind and focus on getting back to his rooms safely. He needed his strength for the meeting tomorrow. Tomorrow, the Gestapo will not come, and he will go to the usual cantina to look over the final details of the Americans’ landing. Tomorrow, they would be another day closer to ending the war, another step towards a life free of fear and the constant smell of death.

Tomorrow, Lovino will be there.

Antonio felt the tightness in his chest loosen its hold, just slightly, but it was enough. The scent of the night air flooded his senses, and he looked up to see the moon and the stars illuminating wispy clouds traversing across the wide sky. A slight wind picked up and caressed his hair, and Antonio realised he was shivering. But he had never felt more alive.

 _Oh, mi corazón_ , he thought. _I cannot wait to see you again._

Cold and exhausted, Antonio forced his feet to move. The moonlight lit his entire way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure canon!Hesse is much nicer as a mercenary, but this version of him was based off of what little characterization he had in the (similarly unfinished) Lily of the Lamplight. Antonio's intentions for him in the original Bésame Mucho are never made clear, but there's a small line indicating he was planning to off him after his talk with the Turkish informant, which is what I went with in the end.


	3. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My apologies that this took so long to be updated. I’ll be upfront – the main reason for the delay was my starting a new job in a completely different field, which has sucked quite a bit of out of me these past few months. The result is we are two chapters in and already that deadline is looking more like a “maybe”. We’ll see how it goes, I guess!
> 
> I’m elated that Hetalia will be restarting in April, and that we may soon be welcoming new fans, as well as the return of some old ones. It’s a series unlike any other and seeing it breathe back to life, even after all these years, was a great motivation to get this chapter out. It turned out much longer than planned, but I hope it makes up for the long wait.
> 
> Thank you for the wonderful comments, and I’m sorry I couldn’t reply to all of them. Please know that each of them has been indispensable to the writing of this chapter, and I relied heavily on your words of encouragement to find the energy to keep chugging on. To find out that there are readers who are looking forward to this little continuation was so gratifying and humbling; I only hope it will continue to be an enjoyable experience for you.

**Chapter 8**

Lovino woke early the next morning as white sunlight grazed his face, slipping through a gap in the curtains. Yawning and rubbing at his unfocused eyes, he sat up and looked around sleepily before noticing his brother’s jacket was gone from where it hung by the door. There was a second of confusion as his groggy mind grasped at the significance of the detail, before the memories from the evening before resurfaced and he gasped, snapping his head around to find Feliciano’s bed empty. The blank, slightly wrinkled bedsheets greeted him silently, giving nothing away as to his brother’s whereabouts.

_He has probably gone for a morning walk,_ Lovino reasoned with himself, trying to quell the fast beating in his chest. But unease gnawed at him as he thought back to Feliciano’s tearful face in the cellar and how quiet he had been during dinner, barely responding to their Grandpa’s concerned prodding. And there was undeniable anger there as well, as his thoughts strayed to the cause of his brother’s unusual behaviour – the picture of the German soldier he had held so dearly, and his agonised confession...

His knuckles turned white as he gripped his sheets. His little brother, in love with the _enemy_. Even now he could not believe it, but there had been no lie in Feliciano’s words last night. He had spoken them as though he was stating an immovable fact, despite the impossible circumstances surrounding them. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, Lovino found himself resentful of how easily his brother had poured out his heart. For years Lovino had floundered as his emotions battled with his mind, regret and longing for Antonio’s smile wearing at his resolve. Many a times he had wished for the right path to magically make itself known to him, or, failing that, for an excuse for him to finally give in. And in one week, Feliciano had met someone he would gladly give his heart to, with absolutely no care or regard for the consequences.

Distantly, Lovino wondered if Feliciano had told the German of his feelings, and if they had been returned. Something akin to envy stirred within him as he imagined the two of them together in the same spot in the photographs, sitting against the ruined wall and leaning into each other...

But somewhere along the way the image in his mind flickered and transformed, and it was him and Antonio in their place instead – Antonio taking his chin in long fingers and tilting it up gently, his face shadowed as he leaned closer, eyelids sliding shut... Lovino shook his head, snapping back to his senses and trying to rid himself of the heat that had risen to his cheeks. Just the night before, he had sworn to guard his desires more closely, but still his heart betrayed him. He groaned and passed an exhausted hand over his face, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His throat suddenly felt parched; he was in sore need of a glass of water.

Sounds of movement reached his ears as soon as he opened the bedroom door. Frowning, Lovino padded down the hallway to the front of the house, expecting to find Feliciano back from wherever he had gone out to. He stopped when Roma came into view instead, heavily slinging a worn messenger’s bag over his broad shoulders as he made his way to the front door.

“Grandpa?”

Roma started, turned, and smiled when he saw his grandson standing there in his nightclothes. He looked as though he had hardly slept the night before. “Good morning, Lovino. Did I wake you with all my thumping around?”

Lovino shook his head, slightly bewildered. “Are you going out? It’s still early.”

“Today’s meeting is very important. I want to get to the cantina to look over these papers with Antonio before everybody else arrives.” Roma jostled the bag he was carrying. “You needn’t hurry, though. Is Feliciano still asleep?”

Lovino’s breath stuck in his throat as he remembered Feliciano’s absence and the photographs. “Yes,” he blurted without thinking, and mentally kicked himself. Why didn’t he just tell the truth?

Thankfully, Grandpa did not seem to notice the slight waver in his voice and only nodded, sighing softly. “Let him sleep in if he wants. I don’t want to distress him any more with all the talk about the current situation. You saw how he was last night.”

Lovino bit his lip. For a wild second, he imagined telling his Grandpa everything; about Feliciano’s infatuation, his secret meetings with an enemy soldier, and the threat he posed to the resistance. But he knew that for all his carelessness, Feliciano would not betray them and put his family in danger – and besides, Lovino had made a promise. So he did his best to mask the turmoil he felt within, and simply nodded dumbly.

Roma already had one hand on the doorknob, but he hesitated before turning back to face his grandson. “Lovino, there’s...” All of a sudden, he looked unsure. Confused, Lovino waited for him to continue.

Roma opened his mouth again, but still looked as though he was searching for the right words. “About yesterday,” he started. “In the garden.”

Lovino froze. _The garden. Antonio’s head in his lap, his fingers running through his hair. Grandpa finding them there together._ His mouth felt dry as he recalled the short, peaceful time he had spent there before everything went downhill. He could not find the words to defend himself – nor, surprisingly, the will. Gritting his teeth, he waited with bated breath for Roma to speak.

But his grandfather had broken eye contact with him, shaking his head and turning away again. “Never mind. We’ll... we’ll talk later. After the meeting.”

He was already past the threshold before Lovino could reply, door clicking shut behind him. Baffled, Lovino gaped at the spot where Roma had been standing a mere second ago. He had been sure that he would at least be admonished for letting himself be alone with Antonio, or worse, be questioned about his feelings for him again. He had never known his grandfather to leave so abruptly without speaking his mind. Lovino didn’t quite know whether to feel relieved that he had – he was almost afraid of what he would have confessed to if the conversation had run its course.

Speaking of Antonio... A new heaviness made itself known as Lovino was reminded of his early departure the evening before. Too much had been weighing on his mind then, so he had not pursued any further, but now he almost felt sick for not having at least inquired. Without an inkling of what Antonio had been up to, his imagination was left to its own devices. A memory Lovino hadn’t thought of for years suddenly floated to the surface of his mind; Antonio bleeding out into the makeshift bed in the back of the meeting room, face pale, chest barely moving with the shallowness of his breath. Lovino inhaled sharply as the familiar thrill of fear shot through his veins, before quickly shaking himself out of his jumbled thoughts.

_Get a grip,_ he told himself firmly. _He’ll be there today, at the meeting. He’ll be okay._

He cleaned himself up and changed into proper clothes, trying to keep himself from brooding with little success. Before long, it was time to leave – but Feliciano had not yet returned. Unsettled about the fact that his meek, considerate brother had left the house without a word, Lovino wondered briefly again where he could have disappeared off to even as he kicked the door close behind him and set off for town. He thought about lying in wait to catch Feliciano for questioning, as their conversation from the night before had been left very much unfinished. But try as he might to ignore it, his worry for Antonio was overtaking all other thoughts and feeding into his impatience, hastening his pace.

It was just as he passed the last of the fields stretching between their house and the village that he heard it; a faint, mechanical buzzing sound that reverberated in the air and grew louder with every second, until soon the sky seemed to be filled with its deafening roar. Alarmed, Lovino looked up and froze as the source of the sound caught his eye; there, high up in the distance, were the shadows of several planes as they shot across the grey canvas of clouds. Fear spiked in him as he saw they were headed in the direction of the village, and for a long, panicked minute his mind’s eye was filled with the vision of a shower of bullets raining down on the townspeople, blood running in the streets, the lifeless bodies of his Grandpa... Antonio...

But as quickly as they had appeared, the planes were gone, soaring in formation over the horizon until they were reduced to tiny specks. Lovino let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, before forcing his shaking legs into a run. Whatever was going on, he would find the answers at the cantina.

.

The door to the back room of the Cantina Verde was slightly ajar when Lovino arrived. The other resistance members had not gathered yet, and the usual murmur of conversation before a meeting was absent. Lovino slowed down to catch his breath before moving to push the door open, but he stopped with a hand on the wooden surface when Antonio’s distressed voice sounded from the other side.

“This cannot be... Roma, you are certain this is the final copy of the document?”

His grandfather’s deep voice answered. “This is the only copy, as you well know, Antonio. Is there an error somewhere?”

There was a slight pause, filled only with the sound of shifting papers, before Antonio spoke in a stiff tone. “I only wish. This pilot... I recognise his name. From before the war.” He sighed heavily. “Surely, there is no crueller trick fate could play on us.”

“What? Let me see.”

Anxious to know what was causing Antonio to sound so defeated, Lovino tried to peer in through the gap in the door, only to jerk away as hurried footsteps sounded from the front of the cantina. Feliciano rushed into sight, breathless, and would have barged into the meeting room as well had Lovino not managed to seize him by his shoulders.

“Where the hell have you been, I had to lie to Grandpa...” he hissed, then stopped to take a closer look. “Have you been crying?” The rims of Feliciano’s eyes were vaguely red, and faint tear tracks stained his cheeks; Lovino didn’t think he would have noticed had he not been practically nose-to-nose with him.

His brother ignored him. “I have to talk to Grandpa. The Americans are here.”

Confused, Lovino stared at him, brows knitted. It took a moment for him to link the new information with the planes he had seen on his way here – it would certainly explain their unusual behaviour. But he hadn’t expected to find out about it from Feliciano, of all people.

“How can you know...” Realization dawned on him as the dots connected. _The German. Of course._ “You were with him.”

Feliciano shifted uncomfortably under his accusing glare, but he did not deny it. “I didn’t tell him anything, Lovino!” he whispered desperately. “I just wanted to see him, I...”

Rage bubbled up inside him at Feliciano’s blatant disregard for the situation at hand, but Lovino didn’t have the time for this, not now. “Shut up, Feliciano, I want to listen to this.” Then, to remind his brother that he had not yet been let off the hook, he added, “We will talk later.” Turning his attention back to the conversation on the other side of the door, Lovino held his breath as Roma spoke, his tone perturbed.

“Perhaps it is not who you are thinking,” said Roma. “Perhaps this is a common German name.”

“It’s not that common.” Antonio sighed, resigned sadness evident in his voice. “I can’t believe this. Of all the damn places the Germans are fighting in the world right now.”

“You were friends with this German?”

“With his brother. We knew each other for years, we were even going to start university together in England; us and a French friend of ours.”

Antonio’s words rang a familiar bell in Lovino’s mind, and he remembered that autumn day in the garden, the first time they had properly spoken after his painful, gut-wrenching rejection; Antonio leaning back to gaze at the pale blue sky, smiling softly at a cherished memory, recounting the foolhardy adventures he had embarked on with his two friends and animatedly describing to Lovino the sights he had seen with them. The German he was talking about must be the same one from his story, Gilbert. It was still strange to consider that the wild, reckless man Antonio had spoken so fondly of was a soldier fighting on the opposite side.

And from the sounds of it, his brother was stationed at the air base they were planning to attack. Lovino’s chest clenched with sympathy as he imagined how Antonio must feel.

Beyond the door, Antonio continued heavily. “But then the war broke out, and they both joined the military. I’ve tried to keep track of them over the years, but it’s been difficult, even for me. My French friend is a Captain in the French Intelligence and basically untraceable. And the last I heard about the German there had been some sort of scandal with an Austrian musician and he was sentenced to a punitive unit on the Eastern front. He’s probably dead by now.” His normally breezy voice was flat and subdued; he sounded as tired as when Lovino had found him sitting here in this very spot, just the day before.

“And his brother is on this list,” said Roma, slowly.

“That’s right. The last time I saw him he was just a kid, quiet and plane-mad and already built like a tank. But he’s one of the most honourable, decent people I’ve ever met.”

There was a brief pause. “Antonio, I hope you know...”

“It’s a shame,” Antonio cut in resolutely before Roma could finish his sentence, “but there is nothing to be done. I know who my loyalty is to.”

Lovino closed his eyes, and found himself wishing for a world that was indeed as black and white as he once believed it to be, where everyone they had ever cared for was on their side, and only the evil and depraved could exist on the other. In such a world, perhaps, Antonio would not have to sacrifice his friendship and forever lose a part of his treasured past, and Feliciano would not have fallen for a man who fought for a country that sought to oppress them. In such a world, life would have been so much simpler, and so less painful than the one they led now.

But it only lasted for a moment, as Roma’s next words unceremoniously drew him back to the harsh reality.

“Your loyalty,” said his grandfather. Something had changed in his voice; it was lower, guarded – Lovino could almost see Roma’s sharp, hard eyes boring into his own. “I must admit that I’ve been wondering lately, Antonio, if perhaps my grandson has anything to do with that.”

Everything stopped. Lovino’s eyes flew open, but for a second he could not see nor hear anything. Shocked, he could only stare at the dark expanse of the door before him, almost forgetting to breathe.

There was a long, harrowing silence. When Antonio finally spoke, his voice was tense. “Roma...”

“I am not stupid, Antonio,” Roma continued as though he had not heard him. “It has been quite obvious for a long time now that you have feelings for Lovino. Too obvious.”

Lovino could not believe Grandpa was saying these things, and to Antonio himself of all people. The world was spinning too fast for him beneath his feet, and he was starting to feel dizzy. He grasped the door frame to steady himself.

Feliciano’s quiet voice came from behind, sounding as panic-stricken as he felt. “Lovino...”

“Shut up,” he whispered, almost on reflex. He couldn’t think straight. Strangely, he felt almost detached from the conversation happening beyond the door, as though he was an outsider looking into the events of a dream.

“Roma,” repeated Antonio, steadier now. “You know I would never...”

Grandpa interrupted him again. “I have nothing against your preferences, my friend, as far as I am concerned each man’s personal business is his own. But you can be quite oblivious to things at times, so I will spell this out. Lovino obviously does not return your feelings. You need to accept that, and let it go.”

Lovino felt as though he had just been struck by stones. _No. No, that’s not true._ Grandpa had no idea how safe Antonio made him feel, wanted and loved like he had never been, and that he was the only thing sustaining Lovino these days – but then, he had never admitted anything except that he felt otherwise. Regret surged up from his stomach like bile as Lovino closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool doorframe, remembering his words to Roma only two nights before. If he had only been honest...

A thought struck him like a lightning bolt. This could be the moment Antonio finally gives up on him, all because he had failed to speak openly when there had been the chance. Now that even his grandfather had confronted him, what merit could possibly outweigh the risks for Antonio to keep pursuing him?

Unaware of the torment he was putting his grandson through in the other room, Roma was speaking again, sounding slightly more like his usual amiable self. “I am sorry. This is not what we were talking about. I just felt it needed to be said.”

“Fair enough,” Antonio replied easily without missing a beat. His tone was also light and pleasant, seemingly indifferent to Roma’s harsh words – but it held a chilling, steel-like undercurrent. “And I feel it needs to be said that my loyalty has always been to a free Italy and to any group that opposes the German fascist movement. Do not forget what brought me here, Roma, or the reasons I choose to risk my life for a country that is not my own. And none of my personal relationships have anything to do with that – not my former friendships with German officers or my feelings towards your grandson. And while we are on the subject, Lovino is a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. As is Feliciano. They are not the children you treat them as.”

Lovino felt numb; he barely registered the small, surprised noise Feliciano made. Antonio’s voice was clear and level, but there was no mistaking the challenge in it. Beneath the stunned haze, his heart swelled as he listened to Antonio speak up to Roma without hesitation, the hard anger carefully concealed but present, hanging in the air between them like a knife. This was the man who fought tirelessly besides them in the name of freedom, and flirted with death every time he stole vital information from the enemy. Who shaved off sleep for work that would save countless others. Who had promised to protect Lovino with his life.

Something stirred within Lovino, hot and intense and alive. In that moment, he wished he could have been standing next to Antonio, not eavesdropping from outside.

“But you are right, Roma,” Antonio continued after a brief silence. “This is not what we were talking about. In regards to the current plans, let us hope this stupid American blunder will not upset things too badly.” And just like that, it was back to business; the choking animosity that permeated the room seemed to dissipate into thin air. “It looks as though our best opportunity is still on Wednesday morning, but you can talk more about that during the meeting. Feliciano, Lovino, are you going to come in or are you going to stand listening outside the door all morning?”

Lovino almost fell forward through the door at hearing his name being uttered. His eyes met Feliciano’s, whose face mirrored his shock. Steeling himself quickly, he pushed his way into the room, trying and failing miserably to keep a steady glare trained on the smiling Spaniard.

“Don’t go acting clever, bastard,” he huffed, angry and embarrassed at having been found out. Not that he was about to admit to it, though. “I only just got here ten seconds ago. Oh, and in case you were interested, apparently the first Mustangs have flown over. I thought they weren’t due until Wednesday.” Hoping hard that the abrupt change of subject would go unnoticed, he stalked over to a table and sat on its ledge as he always did, looking anywhere but at Antonio and his grandfather. He only permitted himself the briefest of glances, and his heart felt like it was being squeezed when he noticed for the first time the deep bags under Antonio’s eyes. He burned to ask where Antonio had gone last night, and more importantly, what he had been up to. But this was neither the time nor the place to inquire – not if he wanted to show his concern.

_Again with the denial_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like his own muttered in his head. _Aren’t you tired of it already? Didn’t you just learn how it would feel when he finally realises you’re not worth it?_

_Shut up,_ he thought. _Shut up, shut up..._

“Good morning, boys!” Roma answered brightly. “Yes, Lovino, it looks like we can rely upon the Americans to mess up our plans before they even begin.”

“But...what...have the Americans landed?” Feliciano sounded lost. “Did you know they were landing? What are they doing here? What does it mean?”

“The main force hasn’t landed yet,” said Antonio. “Roma will explain everything in the meeting.”

Roma shot Antonio a stern look. “Feliciano doesn’t know about these things. He should not have to know about these things.” He dropped a small pile of papers onto the desk with a thump, before turning to give Feliciano a strained smile. “In fact, Feliciano, why don’t you head to the market this morning?”

Lovino watched with mounting unease as Feli, who would usually leap at any excuse to skip tactical meetings, shook his head vigorously, a slightly frantic look in his eyes. “No,” said Feliciano in a quavering voice, “I think I’ll stay for the meeting today, Grandpa.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Roma uncomfortably, evidently taken aback by his grandson’s refusal. “You remember how upset our talk last night made you.”

“I want to hear,” insisted Feliciano. “I won’t get upset. Honestly. I’m not a child, Grandpa, I have a right to hear what you’re planning and besides, I’ll be fine, I promise I will.”

Lovino could see Roma’s jaw tightening as he stood from his chair. “Look, Feli...”

Antonio scoffed loudly from his side of the desk and crossed his arms. “So it’s fine for Feliciano to risk his life bringing us this information and yet he’s not allowed to hear how we are going to use it?”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to speak to my grandson, Antonio,” Roma snapped back, glaring daggers at him. “This is none of your business.”

Lovino forced himself to speak. “Feli. Maybe Grandpa’s right. You don’t have to hear this.” He tried to ignore the surprised look Antonio was giving him – he hated having to agree with Roma on this point, but Feliciano’s unusually adamant behaviour transported him back to his outburst in the cellar last night. Instantly Lovino regretted not turning his brother away before they had been found out; there was no telling how Feliciano would react to their plans to root out the German presence.

Feliciano turned to him, his mouth open in protest, but before any of them could say more loud, thumping footsteps sounded from the hallway and three resistance members strode in, greeting his grandfather cheerfully and coming up to clap him on the shoulders. Roma turned his attention to them with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, but Lovino noticed his brother slipping away to a spot in the back, looking shaken. He wanted to talk to him, convince him to leave – but the room was filling quickly as more arrived, and soon there were too many that would take note should they argue. Lovino stared after Feliciano helplessly, mentally going back and forth over the right action to take. He had never seen his little brother stand his ground against their grandfather. The look in Feliciano’s eyes was distant as he sat quietly, waiting for the meeting to begin, but Lovino could see the steadfast determination in them. He only hoped Feli had the sense to rein in his emotions until after the meeting, lest he tipped everybody off about his secret.

He couldn’t watch Feliciano from his vantage point on the table once the meeting began, but the worry ate at him, preventing him from focusing as Roma went over the usual reports of developments and forecasts, calling for continued surveillance over the next days and stressing the importance of caution. His eyes wandered before landing on Antonio as if drawn to him, standing at the front and off to the side, face shadowed and unreadable as he listened to each of the members speak. But as Roma stepped forward to address individuals in the crowd, Antonio’s eyes suddenly snapped to meet his. Lovino stifled a small gasp and found he could not look away. His grandfather’s booming voice seemed to fall away with the rest of the room as their gazes locked. For a short, incomprehensible moment, he thought he imagined Antonio looking just as startled as he was, before the lost look in his eyes melted into the warmth Lovino knew so well by now, and a small, tired smile played on the corner of his lips. Lovino wondered if Antonio had been thinking about his German friend’s brother, and his inevitable fate they were helping to orchestrate. He wondered if anything he could say would comfort Antonio and distract him from what was to come.

It took Lovino a moment to realise Roma had stopped speaking. Hurriedly, he tore his attention away, heart pounding as he expected to find his grandfather watching the two of them. Instead, he was relieved to see Roma simply running a tired hand over his face, before starting on the next topic of the meeting.

“So,” said Roma, “some of you may have noticed the Mustangs flying over town this morning.” A murmur ran through the crowd, the recent incident having obviously been on their minds. “Well, we’re betting the Germans will have noticed, too. This was obviously not expected. It seems a group of American pilots on a scouting mission flew well off course and one of them, some cocky young Lieutenant apparently, thought it would be a laugh to drop a small explosive in an empty field.” He moved towards the map pinned to one of the meeting room’s walls. “The explosion occurred right... here. Only a few miles from the German airbase.”

“What does that mean for the assault on Wednesday?” somebody asked. “Wasn’t it supposed to be a surprise attack?”

There was a hint of weariness in Roma’s voice as he replied, but he drew himself up imposingly as he directed his words to the entire room at large. “It means the Germans have a tipoff about Americans scouting the area. We need to work quickly to fix this stupid American mistake. The Germans cannot know about the landings.” He started walking across the room slowly, stern gaze sweeping over the crowd. “The Americans are relying upon the element of surprise. We need to ensure they still have it. Silvano, we need you to get on the German’s radio frequency and broadcast a false report. I’ll give you the details in a moment. And Matteo, Antonio will give you misleading information to pass directly to the upper command levels convincing them the Americans are too held up in France to launch an assault here.”

Despite himself, Lovino could only marvel at how his grandfather commanded the entire room’s attention as he spoke. His deep voice reverberated against the walls, and the urgency in it made him sit up a little straighter. “Convincing the Germans that the Americans are not attacking is of vital importance to our entire mission,” said Roma. “If they know about the landing, everything we have worked for these last months will be for nothing. Providing that everything goes to plan and the Germans remain unaware of the impending invasion, the rest of our plan should work perfectly as intended.

“A meeting has been arranged for the day after tomorrow – the day of the landing. Antonio has agents working to make sure this meeting still takes place. Thanks to my little Feliciano, we were able to acquire this information for the Americans.” Moving to stand by the desk, he picked up a single sheet of paper, and held it up for the crowd to see. Lovino could only make out a long row of words printed on it from where he sat. “This is a list of the most important men of the _Luftwaffe_ in the area. These men are all top priority targets: high ranking officers, officers set for promotion, and their very best pilots. They must be taken out immediately in preparation for the American’s aerial attack on the German military bases in Italy. All of the men on this list will be in attendance at the meeting on Wednesday morning.”

He dropped the paper back on top of the pile of documents and resumed his pacing, detailing the steps they were required to take in the aftermath and the resistance the Germans were expected to put up, but Lovino listened to him half-heartedly. His attention kept being drawn back to the list that lay innocently on the desk, and for the first time, he wondered which of the names belonged to the plane-loving boy Antonio had spoken of, and if it would matter if he knew. They would all be dead in two days time, necessary casualties in a war that had already taken countless more – but even as he thought that, Lovino knew it would not be so easy for Antonio to reconcile his sense of duty with his guilt. The hard expression Lovino had glimpsed on him earlier had said as much. He found himself hoping he could at least share the burden.

Suddenly, he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to find Feliciano walking slowly up to the desk to stare down at it. Lovino frowned in confusion and increasing wariness. A few other members sitting closest to him had also noticed and were casting curious looks, but Feliciano did not seem to see them. His wide eyes were focused on one point on the piece of paper before him, and for a while he stood there, unmoving. When he finally raised his gaze, Lovino met it, and something about the stunned, shattered look in them sent his mind rushing back to the dark, lamplit cellar.

_He’s not a soldier, he’s a pilot..._

It took a long moment for the significance of the words to hit him – and when it did, it stilled his breath. Helplessly, Lovino looked from his shell-shocked brother down to the list of names, then to his grandfather, still speaking about the tactical importance of the plan, and again back to Feliciano. Neither of them said a word, but Lovino knew – the German his brother loved was also on the list. He was also going to die.

Roma continued to speak at the front of the room. “Taken by surprise, most of the pilots should be killed before they reach their aircraft. This should see the destruction of the German air presence in this area...”

“NO!” The cry erupted from where his brother stood, causing Lovino to flinch. Even Feliciano seemed horrified at his outburst, slapping his hands over his mouth and staring at their grandfather, panicked. The whole room fell quiet, all eyes drawn to him.

“Feliciano?” Roma asked, his composure falling away to confusion and shock. Feliciano seemed to crumble a little more under his questioning gaze.

“I don’t... I can’t...” Feliciano gulped audibly, his throat working to make out his words. “I mean... I mean...” He looked around the room like a cornered animal, and a sudden, terrible idea crossed Lovino’s mind when his eyes landed briefly on the exit. Feliciano loved this man. He would, in his current state, run and tell him of the plan if it meant saving his life.

_No. No, Feliciano,_ he thought as their eyes met. He shook his head slowly, warningly. _You cannot. You must not._

But deep in his heart, he already knew it would not be enough.

“I have to go,” said his brother, and took off for the door. But Lovino was already up and running, darting around the tables towards the exit. He blocked Feliciano’s path and glared daggers at him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled. Feliciano pushed at him, angry in his desperation, but Lovino would not budge.

“Let me leave, Lovino!”

“No!” He grabbed Feliciano’s arms as he tried to force Lovino out of the way.

“PLEASE!”

“God damn it, I knew this would happen!”

“Stop!” Their grandfather’s booming voice cut through their struggle, stopping both of them in their tracks. Roma was looking at them in alarm. “What the hell is going on?”

Lovino didn’t know what to say. He thought about telling the truth, right here, so that Feliciano would have no choice but to stay. But his brother was staring up at him imploringly, close to tears.

“Please,” he whispered, almost hiccupping in his distress. “Don’t tell him.” Lovino bit his lip, but he could not look away.

“Lovino?” asked Roma. “Feliciano?”

The crowd began murmuring unsettlingly around them, but Lovino paid them no heed. His brother was speaking frantically, voice just loud enough for Lovino to hear.

“I won’t tell Ludwig about the landing, I promise I won’t,” he whispered, stumbling over his words in his rush. “I just... I just have to see him, Lovino, I _need_...”

He needed to calm Feliciano down enough to see reason. “It’s nothing, Grandpa,” Lovino called over the crowd, before dropping his voice. “Do you even know where their base is?”

Feliciano froze, as though it had only now struck him. “No...”

Lovino exhaled sharply and relaxed. Even his brother could see there was nothing to be done anymore. “Don’t be stupid, Feliciano. You don’t even know where you’re going. There is nothing you can do.”

Feliciano stared at him, arms limp against his side, his eyes wild. He opened his mouth again, but what came out was a horrible choking sound. It took Lovino a second before he realised Feliciano was gasping for breath, and his relief was instantly quenched, as though a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown over him.

“Lovino,” his brother choked out, swaying dangerously on the spot. “Lovino, help...” Before Lovino could reach out to him, his knees seemed to buckle under his weight, and Feliciano collapsed to the ground. A cry went up from somewhere behind them. As Lovino stood there, frozen in place, something warm and heavy brushed against his shoulder. The next thing he knew Grandpa was kneeling beside Feliciano, gently turning his head up towards him to help him find air.

“You’re all right, Feli. You know you have to breathe. Just breathe,” his grandfather was saying softly. At a loss at what to do, Lovino looked up to find Antonio making his way to them, concern etched across his face. Roma had noticed, too; he shot a furious glare at Antonio even as he gathered a sweating Feliciano into his arms. “Do you see? _This_ is why I don’t want him hearing these things!”

Lovino wanted to defend him, to explain clearly why Feliciano was so distressed, but he stopped as saw his little brother raise his head to look pleadingly up at him. His heart clenched, and he made his decision; he needed to get Feliciano out of here, away from the meeting and the pressing bodies. Everything else could wait until later. He knelt to loop an arm around Feliciano’s back and, with their grandfather, heaved him up to his unsteady feet. Lovino felt his brother burrow his face against his chest, and turned awkwardly to shield Feliciano from prying eyes.

“He’s tired, Grandpa,” he said, making an effort to keep his voice level. “He has been working hard. I’ll take him home.”

He barely waited for Roma to give his approval before carefully leading Feliciano towards the door, but not before chancing a glance towards Antonio. Green, bewildered eyes met his. Though they were teeming with questions, Antonio did not call out to hold him back. Instead, he gave Lovino a small, determined nod, and the message in it was clear. _Go. Your brother needs you._

Grateful, and more than a little apologetic, Lovino shifted Feliciano’s weight to hold him closer as they left the room together. He tried to ignore the stares and mutters directed at their backs, tried to ignore the way Feli’s chest heaved for his next breath, and kept his gaze locked straight forward, putting all his focus into just walking on. Because his brother needed him, and God forbid Lovino failed him now – not when it seemed like everything else was falling apart.

.

The road home was long and silent, broken only by thunder rolling faintly in the distance. It was only after he had helped Feliciano settle into his bed that Lovino felt the full, sluggish weight of fatigue take hold of him, and he slid to rest on the floor beside his brother. The sheets were cool against the side of his forehead. Feliciano’s hand hung before him, dangling slightly over the edge of the bed, and he took it gently into his own. It’s warmth reminded him of the nights they spent together when they were younger, how one crawled into the other’s bed whenever they had nightmares. Or if fierce storms were passing over them, rattling the windows with the force of their gales, claps of thunder jerking them from their sleep. Lovino hated the terrible sounds, often imagining their little farmhouse being torn apart by the whipping winds and tossed into the dark sky, though he tried to mask his anxiety as best he could. Feliciano, on the other hand, had no qualms about showing his fear plainly. Sobbing in terror, he would slide under his brother’s covers to tremblingly grip his hands, and Lovino would be secretly glad for the company even as he huffed in exasperation.

But now, Feliciano barely reacted to the low rumbles outside. Lovino could not see his face, but he could tell from the sounds of the shallow, shaking breathing that Feli was still awake. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, two brothers in a dark room that seemed unfamiliar despite the years spent together in it. For the millionth time in the past few days, Lovino wondered when exactly things had changed, and at what point they had stopped being little boys terrified of dreams and storms.

Eventually, Feliciano spoke, breaking the stillness that had fallen between them. “You didn’t tell Grandpa.”

Lovino closed his eyes. “No.” Then, because they both knew it to be true, “You really love this German.”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in Feliciano’s voice. He said it easily, as if it was as obvious as stating that water was wet. The tendrils of envy that had curled around Lovino that morning, as he had sat in this very room, flickered up again, but he brushed them away to focus on the matter at hand.

“Would you have told him about the attack?” Lovino asked. There was no response, but he could almost hear the affirmation in the empty air. “Feli, he is our enemy. He fights to control us, to take our country from us.”

There was a faint rustling noise as Feliciano shook his head against the pillows. “No. He fights because his country tells him to, and he loves his country.” His voice was soft and sure in his conviction. “He’s a good man, Lovino.”

“He’s a German,” he protested weakly.

“Do you know, despite what you and Grandpa think, it is possible to be both.”

Something in his words struck a chord in Lovino, taking him back to that warm afternoon in the garden, so long ago. _Not every German is a Nazi, Lovino._ It seemed that Feliciano had realised the doctrine Antonio had tried to impart far well than Lovino himself, despite never having heard it. Lovino tightened his hold on Feli’s fingers, half in understanding, half in apology. He could see now that it would only have taken a simple twist of fate for him to have been born on the opposite side as Antonio in this war – and unlike his brother, he may have never found it in himself to pursue his heart, consequences be damned.

As if reading his mind, Feliciano spoke up again. “What if Antonio was your enemy? Wouldn’t you still love him?”

Lovino’s breath caught in his throat, but he quickly found his tongue. “I don’t love Antonio.”

“Yes, you do.” There it was again; the quiet confidence his brother now seemingly possessed, which Lovino lacked. He closed his eyes in resignment and lay his head heavily on Feli’s arm. Feliciano knew, and had known for a long time. There was no use hiding it from him.

“Antonio is going to die soon.”

There was a rustling sound above as Feliciano turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“You know what he does, don’t you?” Lovino asked tiredly.

“Yes,” replied Feliciano, tone doubtful. “He gives us information. About the Germans.”

“Exactly. Don’t you see how dangerous that is? Antonio is one of the Germans’ most wanted men in this country. In Europe. One day they’ll get him. They will torture him for what he knows, and they will kill him.” Unbidden, the image of Antonio being dragged away by men in grey uniforms and made to kneel before a firing squad filled his mind. Lovino squeezed his eyes shut and desperately tried to will it away as his throat constricted, making it difficult for him to continue. “He knows it. Everyone knows it. It is only a matter of time.”

“But Antonio is clever, he’s...”

“No, he’s not. Because he won’t stop.” After years of keeping the thoughts bottled up within himself, it felt liberating, somehow, to finally let it all out. And the more he spoke, the more furious Lovino felt; at the war, the Germans, the resistance for being so dependent on Antonio... and at Antonio himself, for putting himself in ever greater risk with each mission. For looking at Lovino like he did even as he continued his perilous work, for constantly being on Lovino’s mind, day and night – when in the end, he would be taken away, leaving Lovino as crushed and alone as he had always feared. His resentment kept mounting as he lingered on the cruelty and unfairness of it all, until Lovino was sure it was dripping from his voice. “He won’t stop doing what he does and every day he moves another step closer to the Gestapo.”

Feli took a sharp intake at his words, but it was one of realisation. “That’s why you don’t want to love him. Because you don’t want to be hurt!”

He gave a harsh, dry laugh at how uncomplicated Feli made it sound. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is, though,” Feliciano argued back. “It’s also very selfish.”

Lovino blinked and stilled, lost for words, taken aback by his brother’s bluntness. Feliciano carried on as if he was well past the point of caring. “You love him, but you are scared of something bad happening, and you’re scared of having something to lose. But we never know what is going to happen, and we always have something to lose.” His voice turned gentle. “I know you’re scared Lovino. You are scared of taking the risk. But let me tell you something...” Even without looking, Lovino could hear the soft, sad smile in his brother’s words. “Some things are worth the risk after all.”

_Some things are more important. Some things are worth it._

Lovino stared into the distance as his brother’s and Antonio’s words echoed in his head, reverberating together and sending ripples throughout his entire foundation. Everything Lovino had believed in and clung to, every wall he had painstakingly built to protect himself – they all crumbled away. The familiar urge to shy away from his true feelings was still there, lurking in the depth, but he no longer felt entrapped by it. Instead, he felt foolish. Feliciano had just proved the very thing he had spent years denying; that falling in love was the most natural thing in the world that not even a war could prevent, and accepting that was as simple as breathing. Feliciano was the one person in the world Lovino had thought he would always be braver and stronger than, even if it was mostly for show. But here he was, telling him that he was wrong. That everyone felt fear, but if he did not take the leap he would never gain what he truly wanted; that there was immeasurable worth in daring to hope that despite all odds, he could be happy.

Feliciano had known all that, and he had chosen to walk a path still more dangerous and painful than anything Lovino could have imagined. For his brother, life was too unpredictable to even second-guess, and too short to waste when it could be spent besides somebody he loved with all his heart. And from the peaceful, assured way he spoke, it had certainly all been worth it.

Lovino could not remember the last time he had felt so light-hearted. The sensation was strange and unfamiliar, but now, it was as though all the exhaustion that had been pressing down on him had dissipated into thin air. It felt as though a new world full of possibilities had opened up before him; he only needed the courage to step into it.

And to think that of all the people it could have been to teach him that, it had been Feliciano. Lovino raised his head to see him watching with gentle, understanding eyes, and smiled ruefully. “When did you become the wise one, Feli?” he asked, quietly.

His brother – his brave, pure little brother – matched his smile. “I’ve always been the wise one.” Suddenly, he looked much older; his boyish features were shadowed in the dark room, and his gaze held the resolve of a man. Lovino closed his eyes as tears pricked at them, before exhaling deeply and looking out at the dark grey skies outside the window. He knew what he had to do.

“When were you supposed to meet your German next?” he asked.

“He meets me every day by the oak tree." Feliciano's expression turned downcast. “But with everything happening, the attack this morning, he probably won’t be there tomorrow.”

“You heard this morning,” said Lovino. “That wasn’t an attack, the Americans were on a scouting mission. Those Mustangs are far away by now, the proper landing is still a few days off, and as far as the Germans think, the Americans aren’t even landing at all.” There was a gasp from the bed as Feliciano finally caught his meaning. “So, Feli. Go meet him tomorrow.” He felt a pang as Feli looked at him disbelievingly, knowing he did not understand.

“You’d... you would let me go to him?” Feliciano stammered.

“Yes.” Lovino raised his brother’s hand he had been holding and touched it to his lowered forehead, a silent pardon for forgiveness for what he was about to ask. “Go say goodbye.”

He could not bear to meet Feliciano’s eyes as he stilled. Lovino did not want to ask this of his brother, especially not after what Feli had done for him. But this was the only consolation he could offer, and there was no other way. They were too close to the end to risk jeopardising the mission... not even if it meant breaking Feli’s heart.

“No,” Feliciano whispered above him. “I can’t.”

“Feli...” Lovino looked up from where he sat on the floor, but stopped when he saw the tears flowing freely down his brother’s cheeks.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, Lovino!” Feliciano cried. “I just want to be with him! I never thought I could feel the way I feel when I’m with him. If you only knew how wonderful he is. He likes to listen to me, he doesn’t think I’m annoying or that I talk too much, he likes my singing and he’s so kind, and so shy, even though he looks so strong. He has a brother and a grandpa, just like us. He is so good and honest and...and he’s everything.” Feliciano’s voice broke, and he drew in a shuddering breath, wiping furiously at his eyes. Lovino simply held his hand, and listened to his brother’s pain with a heavy, sorrowful heart. “So why did I have to meet him like this? Why did he have to be an enemy? Why can’t I just be with him? Why... Oh God, why, Lovino? It’s not fair. It’s just not fair!”

“I know.” He did know, far too well. “It’s not fair. But nothing in war is fair.” Feliciano should have had no part in this war. He was too sweet and innocent, made for a more peaceful time where he could fall in love with whomever was lucky enough to have him. The man he had chosen was likely all Feliciano claimed him to be; good, kind, and honest, who simply happened to be fighting for the opposite side. Feliciano didn’t deserve any of this suffering. “This wasn’t supposed to happen to you, Feli. But at least you have a chance to say goodbye.”

He knew even as he said the words that they meant nothing to Feliciano – had he been in his brother’s place, he would have lashed out at the senselessness of it all. But no matter how much it twisted him to hurt Feli so, Lovino refused to relent.

_Forgive me, Feli_. _I’ve made my decision._ _I cannot let you lead him to harm._

“And Feliciano,” he said, out loud. “One more thing.”

It did not matter if Feliciano would hate him for this for the rest of his life. For Lovino had chosen, and he was prepared to pay the cost. His eyes never left Feliciano’s terrified, despairing ones, and it felt as if the blackness in his soul had taken control of his body.

“My little brother,” Lovino said, lowly, steadily. “I love you with my life. But if you betray us... if you betray Italy... I will kill you.”

.

The winds only grew stronger as night approached, and by morning it was clear it would turn out to be a full-blown storm. The events of the afternoon milled around inside Lovino’s head, making it almost impossible for him to sleep. Judging from the constant rustling and muffled sobs coming from the next bed over, Feliciano was doing no better. Trying to ignore the stabbing guilt, Lovino turned away and tried to submerge himself into an uneasy slumber – only to be woken by the soft creaks of the floorboards in the early hours of dawn, as Feliciano slipped out to meet his German for the last time. Even after the sound of the front door closing reached his ears, he lay still under the covers for some time, tired, but unable to rest.

He had done the right thing, Lovino tried to tell himself. It had been the merciful choice. Feliciano deserved to say goodbye to the person he loved. The mission would go as planned, and by the next day the German air presence in their area would be as good as gone. After all these years of secrets, hiding, and sabotage, they would be free, and the rest of Italy would shortly follow. And Antonio would finally, finally be safe.

_Ah, yes_. That hateful, familiar voice was back, whispering in his head. _Fitting that you, the coward, should trade your brother’s love for your own. Never mind that it’s likely he won’t even stay – not for you, at least._

Lovino let out a shuddering breath and sat up, curling his fingers around the covers and trying to will the voice to be silent. This was not the time for self-pity. The day before, Lovino had promised himself that he would not run anymore. If he was forcing Feliciano to sacrifice his German for their cause, he could damn well draw up the courage to tell Antonio how he truly felt. And if for some inexplicable reason Antonio still wanted him, even after all his lies and cowardice – Lovino would ask him to stay, beg for Grandpa’s acceptance, and spend every waking moment he could working to make himself worthy of Antonio’s attention.

And if he didn’t... It would break Lovino, hurt him deeper than anything he had ever experienced, but he would accept it. He had no right to complain, after all, not when he had spent years dodging and hiding from Antonio’s affections, taking all he could get while hardly returning any of what he received. It was a miracle Antonio hadn’t tired of him already.

But _if_ he agreed to stay... _If_ there was even the slightest chance for them to be together...

Something small and gleaming caught his eye from the bedside table. It was the little silver ring Antonio had given him only a few days past, though it could have been a decade ago for all that had changed since. Delicately, he picked it up, the metal cool in his fingers and heavy with memory.

_I will wait however long it takes until you are ready._

Lovino gripped the ring close to his chest, so tightly it dug into his skin, before he made up his mind and slipped it onto his left hand. He was done lying to himself. He would not keep Antonio waiting any longer.

Grandpa was nowhere to be seen when he emerged from the bedroom, which came as no surprise; with the attack just a day away, he and the core members of the Resistenza were sure to be kept busy making sure that all was going according to plan. Antonio must be with them, he thought, the throbbing in his chest quickening at the anticipation and coating his palms with sweat. Lovino thought briefly of heading to the cantina to find him, before blushing at the absurdity of interrupting a mission briefing to confess his long-buried feelings for the man. In the evening, perhaps, he would be lucky to catch Antonio either at the cantina or his rooms. That would be the moment of truth, and by the end of the day Lovino would know if his heart was to be shattered or not.

Flecks of rain pitter-pattered against the kitchen window as he set about preparing a late lunch. Lovino watched the droplets run down the glass pane and collect on the sill with mounting concern for his brother. Feli had been out for hours now, and even during the day it could be bitterly cold this time of year. Had the German not come today? Did something unexpected happen? Uneasiness crept up on Lovino with every tick of the kitchen clock. If Feliciano was in trouble, and it was his fault for letting him go... Lovino shuddered, trying to rid himself of the notion. He was overthinking things again. This was the final time Feli would see the man; it was likely he was taking longer to part with him, reluctant to say his goodbyes.

The guilt had grown and bloated since the night before, and now sat as heavy as an anvil in his chest, eating at him from the inside. His brother would likely never look at him the same way again, and Lovino could not blame him. He could almost feel the blood on his hands, warm and sticky, dripping and pooling onto the counter before him. Lovino wondered if he would ever get used to it, before deciding that it did not matter. Either way, he would be haunted by his decision every day for the rest of his life, and it would still pale in comparison to the burden Feliciano would have to carry.

A sharp knock on the front door interrupted Lovino’s thoughts. Hurriedly, he wiped his hands off on a rag and strode to the foyer to open it, only to stop at the sight that greeted him on the steps. Antonio smiled down at him, handsome with his wind-swept hair even more untidier than usual and damp with rain. He chuckled slightly at the frozen look on Lovino's face.

"Hello, Lovino," he greeted him warmly. "Were you perhaps expecting someone else?"

Lovino stared up at him, trying to think of a response, but as always his stupid, slow brain was drawing a blank when faced with Antonio. There was an awkward moment as Antonio's smile grew puzzled, before a swift, sharp breeze blew past them, causing them both to shiver.

Antonio gave a shaky huff and stuck his hands back into his jacket pockets. "I don't mean to trouble you, but is there any chance I could warm up inside?"

Jolting back to his senses, Lovino nodded hurriedly and stepped aside to let the man in. Antonio sighed in relief as the door closed behind him, rubbing at his hands vigorously and breathing on them to stave off the cold. "Thank you. That chill! It was cool yesterday, but I hadn't expected the temperature to drop so quickly. Must be that storm coming in."

Belatedly, Lovino noticed that the tip of Antonio’s nose was tinged red from the cold. He forced his mouth to work, managing to make his words sound only a little stilted. "Sit. I'll make some tea."

"Oh, Lovi, you don't..." Antonio started, but Lovino had already fled into the kitchen, mind awhirl in a panic. He hadn't expected to see Antonio until much later in the day, but now, faced with the man himself, Lovino found he had no idea what to do. It had been easier in his head, where the possibility of rejection had felt farther from reality, and the details of how he would go about this had been foggy and vague. The silver band felt tighter around his finger, and Lovino almost regretted putting it on that morning. As he poured steaming water from the kettle, it crossed Lovino's mind that perhaps it would be better if he avoided speaking with Antonio altogether until his nerves were better settled.

Instantly, he was ashamed of himself. He had just vowed he would not put this off any longer. He would _not_.

Gritting his teeth and steeling himself, Lovino made his careful way back to the front room with the drink. Antonio had seated himself at the table, looking up and smiling sunnily as Lovino approached. He sighed happily as Lovino handed him the cup, curling his hands around it and soaking in the warmth. "Thank you, Lovino. This is just what I needed."

Lovino nodded dumbly, feeling as if his heart would jump out of his throat at any moment. With jerking motions he took a seat across Antonio. Suddenly he could not bring himself to look at Antonio's face, or anywhere apart from the blank, wooden surface before him. He kept his hands clasped tightly on his lap underneath the table, unable to draw up the courage to bring the ring into view. "I thought you were in a meeting with Grandpa," he managed to get out.

"I was," Antonio replied easily. "Thankfully, it was quite short. Our part in coordinating the attack is mostly over; it is now up to the Americans not to botch this. Things will only become busier for us in the upcoming weeks, so naturally Roma and his men are indulging themselves in a drink or two. They have certainly earned it."

He rubbed one thumb over the other nervously. "You did not join them?"

Antonio sighed. "Your grandfather is... displeased, with my conduct from yesterday. I sensed I would only put a damper on the mood and excused myself."

Lovino chewed his lip as he remembered just how exactly the events of the day before had transpired. "I am sorry about that," he said softly, and meant it. "Grandpa's not used to people disagreeing with him. For... for what it's worth, I'm grateful. That you stood up to him for us." He blushed, and ducked his head. "So, yeah. Thanks."

"Well." He could hear the surprise in Antonio's voice, though he was masking it well under a teasing tone. Lovino almost scowled. It wasn't as if he was _always_ so ungrateful and grumpy as people thought him to be. "I daresay that in itself is enough to make my visit here today very worthwhile. You needn't thank me though, Lovino. I did nothing to warrant your gratitude, and only did what I had always wanted to do – speak my mind. Everything I said back there... they were all truths."

His heart was pounding loudly in his ears. Unable to form a proper response, Lovino huffed and fiddled with the table edge for a few seconds. "It's still unfair," he said eventually. "You are just as part of the resistance as Grandpa is. He has no right to make you feel excluded."

"I don't think that was his intention, but in any case, it is of little matter. I was wanting to come here to talk with you anyway. In private."

Something fluttered in Lovi's stomach, and he clenched his hands harder. "O-oh," he managed, voice strangled.

"Lovino." It was tempting to look up at Antonio's concerned tone, but Lovino felt paralysed, gripped by fear and nervousness, anxious of the things he might blurt out if he faced the man fully. It did not help that Antonio himself sounded unsure of what to make of Lovino's strange behaviour. "Is everything between you and your brother... alright? Yesterday, you both seemed – well, all I mean to say is, I don't see Feli as the type to faint over battle plans. Despite what Roma thinks."

Lovino squeezed his eyes shut as the biting guilt surged up again with a vengeance, and his mind leapt to the memory of his brother's weeping, pleading face. "It's nothing."

"Lovi..."

"I _said_ , it's nothing. It has been taken care of." Even as he said it, the ugly accusation reared its head again and threatened to swallow him whole. Unable to bear being under Antonio's careful scrutiny, Lovino rose from the table and started towards the window, trying desperately to clear his head.

Chair legs skidded against the floor behind him as Antonio tried to follow suit. "I know it may not be my place to speak on family matters, but if this is something your grandfather needs to know..."

"NO!" Lovino whirled back around quickly. Immediately, he caught sight of Antonio's startled expression, before realising too late that he had yelled. "He – he mustn't know," Lovino stammered, "I mean, there is nothing to tell him. It's like I said. It has all been taken care of."

Antonio remained unconvinced. "Well, perhaps you can still tell me. Whatever it was, I can see it is tormenting you even now. And you have my word I will not speak to Roma about it if you don't want me to."

Lovino shook his head. "I can't."

"Lovino, please." Stepping closer, Antonio held his arms before him beseechingly. "I do not like seeing you like this. If talking about it will help, I am here. You know you can trust me."

The gentleness in his words stopped Lovino in his tracks. He raised his head to meet Antonio's gaze as he waited patiently for an answer. Kind, fair Antonio who always listened. Who believed in Lovino and saw in him something nobody else did. Who did everything in his power to protect Lovino, even putting himself in the line of fire.

Who deserved better.

Lovino stared up into Antonio's worried green eyes, and whispered, "I am a horrible brother."

Antonio blinked. "What?"

It was as if a dam had broken inside him. The words rushed out on their own accord, and like a sinner in confession he could not stop them. “I’ve cost him his happiness. Feliciano... he will never forgive me. He will probably never even want to talk to me again.”

He could see the confusion in Antonio’s eyes. “Lovino, I don’t understand. Feliciano is your family, he would never treat you like that. What could possibly make you think he would?”

His obliviousness was almost heartbreaking. Briefly, Lovino wished he did not have to explain himself further – but he had already said too much to hide it any more.

“He is...” Lovino took a deep breath. “Feliciano is in love.”

“Well, that’s wonderf-”

“With a German,” Lovino cut in. “A-a soldier. He will be at tomorrow’s meeting.”

“Oh.” Antonio’s eyes grew wide in understanding – and horror. “ _Oh_.”

Lovino turned away, unable to watch Antonio’s reaction as he laid everything bare. “I told him to end it. I-I told him that I would kill him if he betrayed us. I couldn’t let him risk it, risk _us_ , not after all we’ve gone through–“

“Of cour–”

“He cried.” Lovino could feel his own tears welling up; squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to force them back to no avail. “He begged me. And I know... I know there was nothing else I could do. I _know_. But how can I justify hurting my brother like that? I made him leave that German for dead. Someone he loved...”

“Lovino.” A firm, steadying hand landed on his shoulder and shook him gently. Lovino looked up, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, to meet Antonio’s unwavering gaze.

“Listen to me, Lovino,” said Antonio softly. “It is not your fault this is happening. We are at war, and war forces us to make choices we wish we did not have to... that we would not have had to, under normal circumstances. I know how it feels to be torn apart from the inside, trapped between love and duty. I had so hoped you never would.

“But we must hold onto the knowledge that whatever we chose, it had to be done. That the only other alternative was to lose everything we fought and cared for. We cannot allow regret and despair to ensnare us – not until this is all over.”

He reached out with his other hand and ran a thumb along Lovino’s cheekbones, brushing away a tear. “I had hoped to protect you from the worst of this,” Antonio continued sadly. “I never thought Feliciano would become involved as well. But I meant what I said earlier – Feliciano would not hate you for this, Lovino. He will grieve, certainly. But he loves you as much as you love him, and that will not change, no matter what happens.”

Lovino’s voice cracked as he struggled to respond. “No. He will hate me, I know he will. He will think me selfish and unfair.”

Antonio sighed, incredulity creeping into his voice. “And how would you know that? By reading his mind?”

“I _know_ ,” Lovino snapped, “because that is how I would feel if I were in his place, and it was _you_ I was sending off to die!”

There was a ringing silence. Antonio’s eyes widened; it took Lovino himself several seconds to realise what he had just said, and he paled as his frustration dropped away to dread.

“I didn’t...” he spluttered, trying to shrink away. Only Antonio’s hand on his shoulder stopped him from stepping away entirely, though his grip had slackened. The man before him looked dazed, almost as if he couldn’t believe his own ears.

“I,” Antonio started, then stopped, staring at Lovino dumbfoundedly. It struck Lovino that he had never seen Antonio so at loss for words. He would probably have savoured it more if his entire body did not feel like it was both boiling and freezing at the same time, or if his mouth was not hanging agape as his brain seemed to forget how it functioned. He could only stand there, petrified, unsure if he should even breathe.

Then, all too abruptly, Antonio drew away, hand dropping from its perch on Lovino’s shoulder. He ran it roughly through his hair, laughing nervously as Lovino gawked at him, confused.

“Lovino,” he said, smile still shaky but there all the same. “I’m flattered that you hold me in such high esteem. For a moment, I thought...” he hesitated, eyes flickering. “I mean, I hoped... that you were implying you cared for me. In the same way as I do you.” He watched Lovino with an expression that seemed alien on him; unsure and wavering, almost pleading – with a tiny hint of fear. “Would that be too presumptuous of me?”

In that instant, Lovino realised two things.

First, Antonio was giving him a way out. After all the years of rejection and doubt and separation, he was still offering Lovino an escape from his slip-up, and would let things return to the way they had always been, should Lovino wish it.

Second, Lovino wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off of Antonio’s face, even if it meant his world would be changed forever.

He drew in a deep breath, forced himself to hold his gaze and closed the distance between them, resting trembling fingers against Antonio’s chest. This close, he could feel the heat radiating off of Antonio’s skin, the strum of blood flowing through his veins, the quickening of his pulse. His own breath came in short, shallow gasps, as he looked up into Antonio’s green eyes, which suddenly seemed so dark. His head felt strangely clear.

“No,” Lovino whispered. “It wouldn’t.”

He reached up, closing his eyes, and pressed his lips against Antonio’s. It was little more than a slight touch, a shy brush of skin. Lovino felt, rather than heard, the small hitch of breath from Antonio, and immediately he was afraid that he had done something wrong, or that he had somehow misinterpreted the entire situation – but all fears flew out of his mind when Antonio moved.

A strong, sturdy arm wrapped around him to gently cup the back of his head, and Antonio pressed closer, his breath mingling with Lovino’s and lips catching each other at an angle that caused them to fit perfectly together. Butterflies fluttered in Lovino’s stomach, and a burning sensation filled his chest and spread throughout his entire body. In that moment, he forgot about the years of hurt and denial. He forgot about the war that had taken over their lives, he forgot about his grandfather’s disapproval and his brother’s tears. All that existed was Antonio’s warm body against him, the scent of rain clinging to his hair, the soft lips that pressed into his tenderly at first, before becoming increasingly insistent. When Antonio’s other hand came up to grip him by the waist and pulled him even closer, Lovino felt as if he was falling endlessly, supported only by the large, firm fingers digging into the dip of muscle underneath his shirt. Memory transported him back to the back room of the cantina, empty aside from the two of them, the crackling notes of a song seeping from the radio, a dance that left him breathless with joy and rare laughter. Except this was not a memory, or even a dream; as impossible as it seemed, this was real. It was dizzying. It was wonderful. It was _right_.

He gasped as Antonio leant in, forcing him to crane his neck and sink his weight into Antonio’s arms. He felt the urge to loop his own around Antonio’s neck for balance, but found he could not budge them from where they were crushed between their chests, and settled for clenching his fists around Antonio’s shirt. When they finally, reluctantly, broke apart, he opened his eyes to see Antonio looking down at him in something akin to awe. His heart jumped as Antonio leaned down to touch his forehead against Lovino’s, exhaling with a shudder.

“Lovino,” he murmured, almost reverently. “Lovino...” He pressed a small kiss right between Lovino’s eyebrows, and the skin tingled from the light touch.

Lovino blushed, but tugged at Antonio’s shirt desperately. “Not there,” he breathed. His gaze fixed onto Antonio’s lips, mesmerised by them. “More. Kiss me more.”

Antonio let out a small groan, before bringing his mouth down on Lovino’s once more. Lovino whimpered as he felt the rough brush of Antonio’s tongue, and without hesitation parted his lips. The sensation of the wet, slick muscle sliding in sent thrills down his spine, but it was incomparable to the knowledge that Antonio was as eager and excited as he was. His head felt heavy and drugged; his mind grew hazy with pleasure as his senses went haywire with every nudge and thrust. A shock ran through him when the hand on his waist crept up, stroking the small of his back, but as his knees buckled Antonio held onto him so tightly that Lovino was sure he would suffocate. He tried to pull away, just a fraction, to suck in some much needed air – but still Antonio’s lips chased him, as though unable to drink in enough of the sweet heat of Lovino’s mouth. And as breathless as he was, Lovino could not refuse him, even as he started to feel dangerously faint.

He broke the kiss with an undignified yelp, however, when Antonio leaned in heavily and practically gathered Lovino into his arms, spinning him around in a half circle towards the table. He stumbled back, hips hitting the wooden edge and stopping his fall, but Antonio would not relent; instead, he kept pressing forth, placing one arm on the table and almost bending Lovino backwards over the surface. Lovino grabbed the edge and struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, glaring up at Antonio while trying to catch his breath.

“What are you...” he started, but the protest died on his tongue as he caught sight of the hungry, almost desperate look on Antonio’s face. His cheeks were flushed and his chest rose and fell rapidly, obviously just as out of breath as Lovino. He reached out with a careful hand to stroke a stray lock of hair out of Lovino’s eyes, his own blazing with want in the dim room.

“You have no idea how many times I have dreamt of this,” Antonio murmured. Lovino swallowed hard at his words, and the undeniable heat in them. Antonio ran the back of his fingers over Lovino’s forehead once more, tracing the rim of his face, before dropping the hand onto the table and caging Lovino in with his body. He sighed, bowing his head as if in prayer. “Please. Tell me this is happening. Tell me this is real.”

Sudden, uncontainable longing hit Lovino, and the urge to reassure Antonio engulfed him. He scrambled to steady himself with one arm, reaching up with the other to clutch at Antonio’s collar. “It’s real,” he breathed. “It’s all real. I am here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Antonio’s eyes flashed, and this time Lovino was ready to meet his kiss, tilting his chin up and snaking his hand around to clutch at his shoulder. Tingling bliss filled him as he let himself be enveloped in Antonio’s glorious warmth and scent and passion. Yes, he thought foggily. Here, like this, everything was right. At long last, he was where he belonged. They both were.

He was so content, so wrapped up in his euphoria that he almost didn’t hear the sound of the front door opening, until Feliciano called out, “Lovino? Grandpa? I need to speak to...”

They both jumped; Antonio lurched away and tripped over a chair, hitting the wall with a resounding crash. Lovino flailed, losing his balance as his weakened legs almost gave out, before righting himself quickly and glaring at Feliciano to hide his mortification.

“Feliciano! You should knock before...” He broke off, finally registering the dismal state his brother was in. He looked soaked to the bone, clothes and hair drenched from the rain, the light shower having turned into a downpour outside without Lovino noticing. His knees were dirty with mud and his eyes were bloodshot – it was obvious that he had been crying. Lovino’s embarrassment immediately gave way to worry. “Feliciano?”

Feli promptly burst into tears, ran inside and threw his arms around Lovino in a tight hug. He was freezing cold from the hours spent outside. Lovino tensed, then gingerly put his own arms around his brother in an attempt to warm him as he shuddered and gasped. The rage and bitterness might come afterwards, but for now, Lovino was secretly glad that Feliciano still sought comfort from him. “Feli, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

His only reply was hiccupping sobs. Lovino sighed sadly. He should have known better than to ask; there was only one answer. “You went to see him, didn’t you?” He felt his brother nod against his shoulder, and regret burned him from his gut. He rubbed at Feli’s back as he searched for words of consolation. “I’m sorry, Feli, I really...”

“I’m so sorry, Lovino,” Feliciano whispered, and Lovino stilled. His voice had been so faint Lovino thought for a split second he had imagined it. But what could Feliciano be apologising to him for? Lovino was the one who had torn him away from his lover forever. Unless... unless...

Slowly, he took hold of Feliciano’s shoulders and pushed him away, studying his pain-filled face with mounting terror. “Sorry?” he repeated. His voice shook as he tried to smother the dread crawling up his spine. “Sorry for what?”

Desperately, futilely, he wished Feliciano would prove his misgivings wrong. That it was all a tasteless joke, a mean-spirited prank to get back at Lovino for what he had done. But he knew from the way Feliciano’s eyes flickered nervously towards Antonio and back to him that there was no use for wishes anymore. And with his next words, the terrible, cold reality came crashing back down, shattering into pieces the perfect illusion of a future Lovino had believed stretched ahead, only minutes ago.

“I told him.”


End file.
